


My Girlfriend is a Vampire

by Stephen_Coyle



Series: My Girlfriend is a Vampire [1]
Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Black Court of Vampires, Cunnilingus, F/F, Interrogation, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Mac's Pub, Nipple Play, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Thomas Raith - Freeform, Warlocks, White Court of Vampires, Wizards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2019-06-29 04:56:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 42,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15722427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stephen_Coyle/pseuds/Stephen_Coyle
Summary: What happens in the life of Lara Raith when Harry Dresden isn't around to keep an eye on her?  Aren't you the least bit curious?





	1. Lara interrogates me about my past

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the legal rights to Lara Raith. Lara Raith is a character that was created by Jim Butcher for his stories about a fictional private investigator/wizard named Harry Dresden. I am merely borrowing Lara for a short time to bring a little fan-fiction entertainment into your lives.

**_________________________**

When I first met Lara Raith, it was at a party thrown by a movie producer. The producer had invited dozens of potential investors to the festive occasion in the hopes of getting us to invest in the production of his newest project. I had initially been reluctant. The title of the move; Leather, Lesbian Biker Sluts; didn’t really inspire confidence.

I have nothing against the porn industry, however, Phil wanted me to invest twenty-five thousand in a move that had a puerile title. And the script was even more disappointing than the title. It read like it was written by a sixteen-year old boy with an extremely limited imagination and no firsthand knowledge of how lesbians really interacted with each other.

However, I accepted Phil’s invitation to the gala. Phil could be extraordinarily persistent when he wanted to be, and I was put into a position where I had to either accept the invitation to Phil’s party or be overtly rude, and tell Phil that I thought his movie had all the appeal of a rabid dog that needed to be put down for the good of all humanity.

Phil was one of the first friends I made when I moved to Chicago. He wasn’t exceptionally bright, however, he always tried to be polite, friendly and charming. He wasn’t the stereotypical sleaze ball that people think of when they think of porn producers. He was a nice guy, with childlike enthusiasm and a puppylike desire to make friends and be adored by everyone in his circle of friends. 

So, I attended Phil’s get-together, not because I had any confidence in the movie’s ability to make money, but more because I was worried about hurting Phil’s feelings if I blew him off.

I made small talk with the other potential investors and took advantage of the open bar. Phil knew a wide variety of people in Chicago and some of them were quite engaging. About a dozen of them agreed with me that the screenplay was total crap, and one of them insisted that he wouldn’t invest a dime in the project unless Phil allowed him to do a complete re-write of the entire script.

“I never even thought of that,” I admitted.

“When you invest tens of thousands of dollars in a project,” my new acquaintance said, “they usually offer you all sorts of favors as a token of gratitude. Why not offer the opportunity to make some script changes?”

My new friend was named Terry, and he was a published author. He had written a few novels that had almost made it to the best seller’s list, and he had some ideas that would take Phil’s train-wreck of a script and turn it into something salvageable.

“Have you discussed any of this with Phil yet?” I asked. I was suddenly becoming optimistic about this project. Terry’s script ideas were quite clever and interesting. If Phil allowed the rewrites, I could see myself investing money in this thing. 

“Not yet,” Terry replied, motioning toward Phil and an attractive middle-aged woman in a skirt-suit, “Phil is currently trying to charm Nancy Griffin into investing in his project. She’s already confided to me that she hates everything about the script. She’s the wealthiest of all the people Phil invited here tonight. Once she turns him down, Phil’s morale will be vulnerably low. Then, I shall swoop in and offer to make things better…if exchange for significant rewrite to his horrible script.”

I had a great deal of respect for Terry’s plan and gave him an approving nod.

And while Terry and I lingered and anticipated the moment where Nancy would dampen Phil’s spirits, we were so engrossed in the interactions between Phil and his potential investor that we utterly failed to notice a tall, statuesque woman as she silently made her way over to us with a crystal champagne flute in one hand.

Suddenly a delicious female voice demanded my attention. It was a smoldering purr of a voice, low and seductive. It was the sort of voice that made me think of when Kathleen Turner was a husky-voiced sex symbol, however, Kathleen Turner’s voice was never able to bypass the logic sections of my brain and go straight to massaging my brain’s limbic system.

This woman’s voice was able to do that.

“Terry,” the voice said with a seductive purr, “I don’t believe I’ve met your lovely friend. Please introduce us.”

I turned to discover the owner of that smoldering purr of a voice. 

She reminded me of a Patrick Nagel painting. She was tall, slender, graceful and was a beautiful study in color contrast. Her skin was almost as pale as milk, while her hair was as dark as a moonless night. She had eyes of dark grey and wore custom-tailored black leather. And the leather adhered to her body in ways that seemed designed to put her perfectly sculpted body on display, rather than conceal it.

I rapidly decided that if Nagel had used this woman as a model for his paintings, he failed to capture the total effect of her beauty. The woman in Nagel’s paintings was incredibly beautiful, however, she was a pale imitation of the living goddess that had just asked Terry to introduce me.

“Lara,” Terry said, as his eyes widened and drank in the beauty of the tall, slender, graceful goddess, “this is Hannah Higgins. Hannah, this is Lara Raith.”

“Hannah,” Lara purred, and when she said my name it sounded like the sound of silk caressing flawless, bare skin. I had never suspected that the human voice could contain such sexual potency.

“You are quite attractive, Hannah,” Lara said, “Have you been cast as one of the actresses in Phil’s movie?”

If anyone else had asked me if I had been cast in a train-wreck of a movie like Leather Lesbian Biker Sluts, I would have felt insulted, however, from Lara’s magnificent lips, the question didn’t seem insulting at all.

I shook my head gently in negation and replied, “I’m not an actress.”

Terry then interjected himself into the conversation and added, “She was invited here because she has money and Phil is trying to get her to invest in his new project.”

“An investor?” Lara said, and then she favored me with a look that made my heart beat faster and incited a soft, wet pulse in my loins.

For a few seconds the entire weight of Lara’s intoxicating gaze was resting entirely on me. That afforded me some time to study the beauty of her seductive mouth and deep artistry of her eyes. Upon closer examination, I discovered that her eyes weren’t entirely grey. If you gazed intently into her eyes, you could detect flecks of periwinkle blue. 

Her eyes were alive, alert and aware. Lara had the beauty of youth; however, her eyes were indicative of an intelligence that usually takes a century or more to acquire.

“Every movie I have ever starred in has made profits that are amazing,” Lara informed me, “Invest in me and you will be astonished with the benefits that you reap.”

My head was swimming and I found myself overwhelmed at Lara’s closeness, Lara’s scent and Lara’s superhuman beauty. I’ve known many females, and I’ve bedded thousands of them, however, Lara had a quality about her that inflamed my passions with an intensity I hadn’t known in centuries. She aroused my passions and bewitched my senses. I was so intoxicated by her, I could barely concentrate on the words that she was saying.

My throat suddenly felt thick and my chest felt tight. For a few scant seconds I felt incapable of speech. I willed my vocal cords into obedience and tried to goad my mind into forming words that made some sort of sense.

Finally I cleared my throat, took a gulp of my drink and softly replied, “Well Lara, I value your opinion. If you think that it’s a wise investment…”

Most of my blood circulation seemed to be going to my lower extremities. Not enough blood was reaching my brain to form the words to finish that sentence, however, Lara didn’t seem to be bothered by my inability to articulate my thoughts. She just favored me with an oh so charming smile, linked my arm in hers and walked me over to Phil, so we could discuss how much money I’d be investing in his new movie.

Don’t judge me. If you had met her in person, you would have given her anything she wanted. You would have signed over the deed to your house, if she’d asked you to. Attempting to resist her seductive charm was about as easy as attempting to beat back a hurricane with an umbrella and forcing it to go back into the ocean.

__________

 

This was back in 1999. I’ve learned quite a lot about Lara Raith since then.

For starters, Lara Raith isn’t exactly human. She’s a White Court Vampire.

This means that Lara doesn’t age like humans do. She is potentially immortal, and she feeds off the life force of humans.

It’s quite fascinating. Lara’s extraordinary alluring and erotic appearance is like a camouflage that a predator uses to lure prey in closer so that they may be fed upon. White Court Vampires feed upon the life energy of their victims, and Lara’s physical appearance is intensely erotic and stimulating. The mere act of visually examining Lara is enough to make most men (and quite a few women) feverish with libidinous lust and sexual need.

And of course, every kiss, every caress, every intimate embrace and every erotic touch of her tongue or fingertips rouses the libido of her victims and drives their sexual energies to even greater extremes.

And, while they are victims, the mortals Lara feeds upon don’t exactly flee from her. They eagerly walk directly into her web and allow her to feed upon them. The touch of her fingertips, the sight of her bare flesh and feeling of her talented lips and tongue upon their skin is more addictive than any drug. Mortals go almost mad with pleasure at her touch and will come back for more time and time again.

Even if they know that it’s killing them.

I learned of Lara’s true nature while drinking in a place called McAnally’s pub. Most major cites (and even some small towns) have a place like McAnally’s pub. It’s a place that seems to draw in members of the supernatural community like a magnet draws in iron filings. I’ve never been certain how it works exactly, however, I can usually find such a place within one or two days of entering a new town. It’s like the place has a gravitational pull that pulls in beings like shape-shifters, vampires, witches and wizards. 

Mac’s Pub is where I met Katherine.

Katherine was tall and slender with a build like a sprinter. She had high cheekbones, perfect straight, white teeth and a winning smile. She makes friends easily and, with her extroverted attitude and overt affability, she had utterly won me over as her friend within seconds of our first meeting.

Katherine loved to talk and has lived in Chicago since 1929. As a result, she could and did tell me a great deal about what goes on in Chicago.

You see, despite Katherine’s youthful appearance, she’s more than one-hundred and forty years old.

Katherine is part human and part something else. She made it quite clear that she wouldn't discuss her father's side of her ancestry and that I shouldn't ask about it. She was quite open and friendly about all other topics; however, her father's side of the family was to remain a closed book.

So, Katherine and I talked endlessly about other topic unrelated to her parentage. This is how I learned about the fact that there was a pack of werewolves in the city that had laid claim to territory around the University of Chicago. I also learned about attacks by Red Court vampires, the existence of a Chicago wizard who had instigated a war between the Red Court Vampires and the White Council of Wizards, and about the fact that Lara Raith, Thomas Raith, and the entire Raith clan were vampires of the White Court.

Katherine warned me to stay away from Lara Raith and all members of her family. She cautioned me that they were all predators. They fed off the emotions of humans and would sometimes feed on them to the point of death. They were also ruthless, masters of manipulation, deception and covert enterprises. 

Of course, by the time Katherine had given me this free advice, Lara and I had already become lovers. And the sex was quite good, I mean it was extraordinary. It was like opium covered in chocolate and blessed by the gods.

 

Knowing that Lara was a White Court Vampire, that fed upon the life energy of her lovers did not deter me from her bed one bit. It was interesting to know her true nature, however, it did nothing to frighten me away. Sex with her was intoxicating and addictive. I wouldn’t cease my sexual activities with her, even if I thought they were killing me.

And while humans will eventually die from having sex with a White Court Vampire, my kind are much more resilient than that. You see, I’m not exactly human either.

My exact nature is less easy to categorize; however, when Lara realized that I was not human, she did the best she could to delve into my past and discover what I really am. She has a veritable army of spies, mercenaries, analysts, specialists and corrupt government officials working for her. Give her enough time and she can find out anything about anybody.

I have an Illinois state driver’s license, a U.S. passport and other documents that support my identity as Hannah Higgins, American citizen and mortal female. As you may have surmised, this identity is a carefully constructed fiction.

Centuries ago, I was known as Issanja. I was worshipped as a goddess of healing, also as the goddess of the cold, dark waters that existed underneath the ice.

Don’t laugh. Thousands of years ago, that was a very important title.

However, gods have fallen upon hard times. We are not what we once were. Once upon a time we were the dominant species on this planet. We ruled the oceans, we ruled the deserts, we ruled the rainforests, we ruled the frozen tundra, we ruled the skies, we ruled the mountains. This planet was ours to use as we pleased.

The gods were immortal and powerful; however, this is not the same thing as being infallible. 

The gods had many of the same flaws that mortals have. We were arrogant, we were selfish, and we were prone to fits of irrational violence.

During Neolithic times, there were thousands of gods, and it seemed as if every one of us deemed himself (or herself) the most impressive, most extraordinary and most worthy of all the gods. Many of the gods dreamed of world conquest and having all the lesser gods at their command. 

This led to temporary alliances, temporary coalitions and endless wars. And when gods go to war, extraordinary destruction follows.

Many gods died in battle, many of our fortresses and strongholds were destroyed. Our greatest cities were burnt to ash or crushed into powder. Many of our greatest creations were destroyed and lost forever. A vast number of artifacts and items of power were irretrievably lost. 

Those of us who survived were still immortal, however, without our cities, our strongholds, our mightiest tools and weapons, we were greatly diminished. We were not what we once were.

At one time the gods could summon hurricanes at will, they could cause volcanos to erupt by uttering a few well-chosen words, they could summon blizzards that would blanket entire continents with snow and ice.

What do you call us now, now that these imposing abilities have been forever stripped from us?

Fallen gods?  
Diminished gods?  
Humbled gods?

We were so diminished after the wars that we might have all withered and died, however Daskalos revealed to us that the humans might be the key to our continued survival.

In many ways Daskalos was the scholar of the gods. While the rest of the gods were making ultimatums and fighting wars, Daskalos posed intriguing questions and endlessly sought out answers.

Gods and humans are quite different in both our physical makeup and physical needs, however Daskalos discovered that we could have a very symbiotic relationship.

Daskalos discovered that the gods are phages of a sort. When humans feel emotions such as admiration, gratitude, respect and reverence towards us, they create a type of psychic energy that we can feed off. It increases our strength and vitality. Following Daskalos’s instructions, we developed a complicated relationship with the humans where we promised the humans protections from famine, disease, foreign invaders and other threats in exchange for the humans worshipping us and teaching their offspring to worship us as well.

When the gods first developed this relationship with the humans, humans were very simple creatures. They were largely nomadic and tribal. Their goals were simple back then, largely limited to survival, finding a mate, breeding and protecting their offspring.

However, that was back in Neolithic times. Humans have become much more complicated since then.

Since then, humans developed their own written languages, they built cities, they learned how to work metal and forge weapons made of iron. They’ve learned to write their own books and promote their own ideas and build their own empires.

Bit by bit, century by century, the humans decided they didn’t need gods anymore. It happened so gradually, most of the gods didn’t see it happening, however, humans do not worship us anymore. Our temples have all been destroyed, abandoned or converted to other uses. And a god without worshippers is a greatly diminished creature.

Lara was able to learn some of my secrets by utilizing her army of spies, experts and corrupt government officials, however, there were some blank spots in her knowledge about me, and she wanted to have all of those blank spots filled.

That’s when Lara decided to take a much more direct route in obtaining information about me.

I visited Lara at the Raith Family Estate at least once a week. Once upon a time I might have called these visits dates, however, these assignations lacked the casual entertainments and verbal foreplay of a normal date. Whenever I arrived it typically took less than fifteen minutes before we were both naked and deeply engrossed in libidinous pursuits.

Then, there came the day when I arrived at the Raith family estate and Lara broached the subject of my true identity.

Of course, Lara couldn’t simply come out and tackle the question straight on. White Court vampires seem to hate being open and direct. The White Court seems to pride itself on games and manipulation. 

 

So, when I arrived at the Raith Estate that day, Lara didn’t immediately ask me anything about my true identity and instead greeted me wearing a tight, black dress and a push-up bra that did more to display her prominent cleavage than to conceal it. She was also wearing those insanely high stiletto heels. 

It shouldn’t be possible for a woman to walk gracefully in heels like that, however, Lara glided over to me in her stiletto heels with elegant grace and a delicious sway of her hips and then pulled me into a kiss.  
I melted into the kiss like there wasn’t anything else in the entire world that mattered.

Lara kissed me with a skill that few could match. She was gentle and passionate at the same time. Her tongue entered my mouth and probed, yet it was an elegant, graceful probing that elicited a libidinous reaction in my body and caused my nipples to harden and my sex to throb. My heart beat madly in my chest and Lara’s arms and fingertips felt like magic everywhere they touched my body.

I wanted to rip that dress off her body right there in the drawing room, and shamelessly nuzzle her round breasts and the delicious curves of her taut, toned abdomen. However, when I tightly gripped the fabric of her dress and broke from our kiss, Lara gently dissuaded me.

“Patience, darling,” she said, her voice soft as silk, “If you could wait until we are both securely within the privacy of my chambers, I would take it as a kindness.”

If you could only hear her voice, It was like opium, champagne and gourmet chocolate all rolled into one. That delicious voice had a direct effect on my limbic system and my sex tightened and throbbed in reflexive response. 

I gasped something softly and obediently waited until we were in Lara’s chambers.

Lara stripped out of her clothes slowly and seductively and somehow even managed to make the sound of sliding down the zipper on her dress sound erotic. Lara draped her black dress onto the back of a chair and walked towards me catlike grace, despite the fact that she was still wearing those ridiculous stiletto heels.

The thin fabric of Lara’s push-up bra was engaged in a valiant struggle to contain Lara’s extraordinary breasts, and with every step Lara took, it looked as if Lara’s impressive breasts might overpower the overtaxed garment and break free. The V-string panties hugged Lara’s crotch and hips exceedingly tight as if reluctant to let them go. Her long blue-black hair hung in graceful waves past her shoulders and seemed to caress her bare skin lovingly when she moved in just the right way.

 

I helped Lara out of her push-up bra and black V-string panties and then gasped. I’d seen Lara’s naked body before scores of times, however it still managed to evoke awe every time I beheld it. 

Her naked body was the very essence of beauty, naked, she was marble-white, like something created by a master-sculptor, sculpted and polished and buffed to perfection.

“Dear Hannah,” Lara said softly as I dropped her silky underthings on the floor, “You are wearing entirely too many clothes for the purpose of this visit. Would you like my assistance in disrobing?”

My throat felt thick and constricted and I couldn’t seem to make my vocal cords function, however, I nodded my head in affirmation and soon Lara’s strong hands and confident fingertips were helping me out of my clothes.

Lara removed my clothes with far more grace than I could have accomplished if I had undressed myself. When we were both naked, my bare skin felt tingly and electric and eager to be touched. Lara sensed my enthusiasm and favored me with a seductive smile. The way her full soft lips curved when she smiled triggered something inside of me and I kissed her softly on the mouth.

Lara returned the kiss and ran her fingertips gently across my shoulders, my forearms and the gentle curve of my collarbones. Lara wasn’t even touching the most erotic parts of my anatomy, and the room practically thrummed with sexual tension and I was already trembling with delicious erotic hunger.

I panted, and my eyes widened as I stood there, drinking in Lara’s remarkable, delicious naked beauty. Then she slid towards me and pressed the front of her naked body against mine. When I wasn’t looking, she had stepped out of her stiletto heels and suddenly we were standing together both of us the same height. 

Her bare breasts pressed against mine and a magical wave of desire passed through me, heating my loins, hardening my nipples and causing my already-wet sex to throb with hungry, urgent spasms.

Feverish with my desire for her, I moaned and panted as Lara rubbed her exquisite breasts up against mine. They were so smooth and enticing and felt like bliss as Lara rubbed her luscious breasts lovingly across my own. The friction of her mouthwatering naked flesh easing across my own naked flesh excited thousands of nerve endings in my own body, and when her erect nipples brushed across my own sensitive, puffy nipples, there was a flutter in my chest and a delicious pulsating sensation in my nipples.

 

I was feverish, my breathing was ragged and my vocal cords seemed to have lost their ability to function, however, Lara didn’t seem to think that my ability to vocalize was terribly important at that point. When we were both heated and our passions fully inflamed, Lara pushed me down to my knees and I licked and kissed my way down her deliciously toned abs, the flat expense of her exquisite belly and the edge of her inviting vulva.

Lara’s swollen, enflamed, pink pubic lips were delicious, however I didn’t want to force my tongue into Lara’s sex just yet. We liked to drag these special moments out and make them last, so I dragged my tongue lovingly across Lara’s taught, tight belly and made elegant circles and swirls across her naked body with my tongue.

Lara’s breathing changed and became almost as labored as my own. Her thighs trembled and there was a slight throb in her voice when she said, “Do you intend to tease me all night, Hannah?”

I was feeling playful and attempted to deny Lara relief for a little while longer, however, when she next spoke her voice sounded much more pressing and persuasive. There was a firmness to her voice that seemed to demand respect and obedience.

“Hannah,” she said, every word seeming to carry an extraordinary amount of weight, “You will plunge your tongue into me now. You have made me wait long enough.” 

There was something about that voice that prodded me into instant obedience. My mouth opened wide and I forced my tongue into Lara’s wet sex without hesitation. It was almost as if my body responded without consulting my brain first. 

I worked my tongue into her vagina and savored the taste of her abundant juices. I’ve used my mouth to bring hundreds of women to orgasm, and I’ve tasted a great variety of different flavors when I had my tongue deep inside a woman’s sex, however I’ve never tasted a woman quite like Lara. As I licked at the swollen folds of her pubic lips and stuck my tongue deep inside of her, it seemed that she tasted like cream and cocoa butter. 

I held Lara’s firm, perfectly-shaped buttocks tightly in hands and dug my tongue deep inside of Lara, searching her moist interior and savoring her taste. Lara made appreciative moaning sounds and let out an occasional gasp when my tongue located a deliciously sensitive spot.

Lara’s breathing rapidly became more labored and I licked the hood away from her inflamed clitoris and gently trapped it between my teeth. I sucked her hard, swollen nodule and Lara’s whole body began to shudder and writhe. Then, instead of panting, Lara let out sharp cries of ecstasy and her naked body squirmed in a way that was more erotic and alluring than I’d ever seen any other woman squirm.

Lara’s magnificent breasts heaved up and down as she panted, and I watched, mesmerized by the sight. Eventually the orgasm subsided, and Lara pushed me down onto her massive bed and laid down next to me.

Lara kissed me passionately on the mouth and I felt her fingers opening my vulva and sliding inside me. My vagina throbbed and tightened, and I spread my thighs apart to give her greater access, however, Lara’s talented fingers rested inside of me without probing any deeper.

“And now, my dear Hannah,” Lara whispered delicately, “I have some questions for you.”

 _“Questions?”_ I exclaimed, sounding outraged, _“Now?”_

“And why not now, my darling paramour?” Lara inquired, somehow managing to sound sweet and innocent, “I certainly have your undivided attention.”

 _“Lara, please,”_ I pleaded urgently, however Lara ignored my pleading and gave me an intense look and pulled her fingers slightly from my throbbing sex. The mere movement of Lara’s fingertips caused my body to react involuntarily. A tingle ran up and down my helplessly exposed body and then I gasped as Lara ran her fingertips from my needy sex, down my thighs and then back to my wet, throbbing vagina once again.

I felt my sex throb and my thighs quiver as Lara looked my exposed nudity up and down, and then she said, “Let us begin the questioning.”

Lara’s face loomed closer, her head cocked to one side, as if to kiss me. Her face was close enough that I could feel the heat of her breath upon my face and she said, “Hannah Higgins is not your real name. My people did some research on your cover identity. The person that you purport to be did not exist until ten years ago. So, the first question that occurs to me is, what is your real name?”

 

My heart pounded madly in my chest and my mouth went dry. I didn’t want to answer Lara. I had been passing myself off as human for centuries. My original name had been lost in the sands of time, and I felt it was appropriate that it remain that way. I inhaled deeply and tensed my muscles, attempting to think of a reply that would divulge the least amount of information, yet somehow still satisfy Lara’s curiosity. 

Then, I utterly lost my train of thought as Lara reached out and artfully placed a fingertip upon the flesh of my right breast, and gently, leisurely ran the tip of her finger around the edge of my left areola. I gasped at the unexpectedness of the pleasurable contact and suddenly my whole body shuddered in response.

Her touch stirred my libido and stimulated every nerve ending in my body. There was a sudden feeling of heat between my legs and my body trembled. I gasped and panted, and my heart pounded in my chest so forcefully that it was painful. 

“I enjoy watching you squirm,” Lara informed me, “You look so fetching when you do that. However, I should inform you that you shall not receive any sort of sexual relief until you’ve answered all my questions. So, unless you wish to remain in sexual torment for an endless number of hours, I would advise you to answer all of my questions with great haste.”

There was an inner struggle that went on between my centuries-old desire for secrecy and anonymity and my much more immediate, urgent need for sexual release. My inner-struggle lasted no more than ten seconds and I rapidly decided to do exactly as Lara said. I began to answer her questions with great speed.

“Issanja,” I replied, my voice shaky and quavering, “however, nobody has called me that in centuries.”

“Issanja,” Lara said flatly, “I’m not familiar with that name. However, you’re far too resilient to be human. And I’ve seen you handle iron with impunity. The touch of iron to your bare flesh would be ruinous if you were a faerie. What are you then?”

Her voice sounded sweet and patient as she asked this question, however Lara didn’t wait for me to respond. Instead she moved her hand to my other breast and began to trace lazy circles around it. Another agonizing wave of desire passed through me, heating my loins and causing my nipples to harden until they ached. I writhed and danced as Lara’s fingers stimulated thousands of nerve endings and excited my libido. I wanted Lara to touch me all over until my body was brought to a powerful and satisfying orgasm, however when an urgent moaning escaped my lips, Lara took her fingers away.

 

My breath came out in ragged gasps and I began trembling. Lara quietly and patiently waited for me to respond.

“It’s complicated,” I finally explained, “I used to be a goddess.”

Lara didn’t seem to be satisfied with that answer. Then, instead of one hand gently caressing one of my breasts, Lara slid both of her strong, confident hands across my body and used her fingertips to claim both of my defenseless breasts simultaneously.

I let out a gasp and the soft, wet pulse of my sex became far more insistent. Lara leaned in close, her face close to mine as her hands explored my breasts. Her touch, tender and delicate at first, gradually became bolder as she saw how my body responded. My labia became swollen and unfurled and my sex became dripping wet at her amorous touch. Lara’s hands were utterly bewitching, and they transported me to a sensual territory from which I could not escape.

“You used to be a goddess?” Lara inquired as her hands agitated my nipples and goaded my libido into riot of sexual need and caused my body to overheat, my clitoris to swell and harden. I could feel the copious amounts of moisture between my legs even though I never took my eyes off Lara’s face.

When her fingers teased playfully across my areolas and brushed against my distended nipples, she asked, “And what are you now? You pretend to be human, pretend to be mortal, but you are obviously much more than that.”

She took her fingers away, and I sighed. I felt overheated and out of breath. There was a powerful throbbing in between my legs and in my ears. I couldn’t seem to think, and my eyes went wide, and I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I waited to see what Lara would do next.

“There is no word for what I am now,” I replied weakly, “I have no worshippers now. A goddess without worshippers is greatly diminished.”

Lara licked her lips and raised a single eyebrow in response to my words, and those minor facial gestures seemed far more erotic that anything I had ever seen in any of the strip clubs or adult shows in Las Vegas and San Francisco. I shuddered in response and temporarily forgot to breathe.

Lara held both my breasts in her hands and kneaded them as if they were bread dough. I held my breath, filled with fear and anticipation of what she might do next. Then her face broke out into a mischievous grin and she grasped my inflamed nipples between her thumbs and forefingers. 

For several seconds, Lara just held my swollen nipples in her grip. She gripped them gently, however my nervous system reacted vigorously to the minor physical contact and I was very nearly vibrating with anxiety.

“For a being that is centuries old,” Lara said, “you are very limited in your thinking. If the humans can give you power by worshipping you, you should go and out and get some humans. Chicago is a very large city. There are humans everywhere.”

I tried to explain to Lara that humans no longer believed in the old gods, and that my name was forgotten by them centuries ago, however she responded by rolling my tumescent nipples gently between her thumbs and fingertips and I lost my ability to speak and began to moan uncontrollably instead.

“Hannah, humans are very easy to manipulate,” Lara explained to me while she played with my nipples and elicited moans and ragged breathing from my lips, “And if they will not worship a pre-Christian god named Issanja, have them worship a mortal woman named Hannah.”

Lara’s questions probably took no more than twenty minutes to answer, however it felt as if she questioned me for hours. She asked me questions about how humans used to worship the old gods, how many worshippers I used to have and the sorts of strengths and advantages I used to enjoy back during those days. She asked me if there were any other gods out there besides me. She asked me what sort of talents and strengths I had now as a diminished deity with no worshippers. She also began to outline a series of steps in her plan to get me thousands of worshippers.

It was perhaps the oddest interrogation in the history of interrogations. Lara kept me chronically off balance and desperate for sexual relief as her hands continued touch, caress, grasp and probe the most intimate parts of my anatomy.  
Her hands found their way to my thighs, my buttocks and the flat, taut expanse of my abdomen. Her fingertips were erotic magic as they caressed and explored my naked body. I was physically exhausted by the time Lara was satisfied that she had milked me of every last tidbit of useful information.

“Well, Hannah, it’s been a very long night, and I’ve kept your orgasms at bay for a very long time,” Lara said finally, “I suppose that it’s now time that I bring all of your suffering to a dramatic conclusion.”

My naked body was covered in a fine sheen of sweat at this point, and I was incapable of focusing my eyes. My body had been overly-stimulated and my nerves overtaxed. My mind was a wreck, and I was barely able to focus on anything Lara was saying. I was only able to make sense out of maybe one word in ten that she was saying.

Then, I felt Lara’s fingers gently stroking the folds of my swollen labia and I squirmed under her ministrations. I opened my eyes wider and I tried to speak, but all that came out was a weak, pathetic, moaning sound.

The physical sensations as Lara’s fingertips gently brushed across my exposed vulva were extraordinarily intense. I couldn’t stop myself from gasping as my body was flooded with powerful euphoric tingling sensations that doubled and redoubled.

It was like a flood of liquid endorphins washed over me and I screamed lustfully as my body went into uncontrollable spasms and my orgasm finally broke and exploded from my loins. 

Every muscle and tendon in my body sang with the rush of endorphins. 

I gave up my will entirely and my mind was incapable of functioning, except for experiencing the wonderful physical sensations of the throbbing, resplendent orgasm that I had given birth to. It was a delicious, ravishing experience that seemed to go on for hours. At some point I heard a woman’s voice screaming and panting, and it took me several seconds to realize that I was listening to the sound of my own voice.

Floating along in the afterglow of a powerful orgasm, I lay there satiated, limp and lifeless. My arms and legs didn’t seem to work, and I was incapable of even sitting up. Sex with Lara has this effect on me. As a white court vampire, Lara drains life energy from my aura every time we have sex. If I were a human, Lara’s constant draining of my life energies would have killed me by now, however, my status as a former goddess and current immortal meant that I could replenish my life energies with extraordinary speed. It would only take about twenty-five minutes to fully recover from what Lara had done to me.

However, immediately after sex, I felt as weak as a kitten. I laid limp and lifeless on her enormous bed and my chest heaved as I began to recover my strength. Lara propped herself up on her elbows, gazed at my naked body and smiled. She wasn’t especially interested in my ability to stand, or the strength in my limbs. At the moment all she was interested in was my ability to listen as she began to lay out her plans for my future.

**_____________**

And, with Lara’s assistance, I became a religious leader.

We found a building in the Logan Square section of Chicago that I could use to perform my sermons and impress my followers. I named my church the Church of our Blessed Lady of Noble Determination, and Lara helped me get my church registered as a 501 (c)(3) organization.

My church didn’t have much in the way of an original message, however, I had something even better.  
Centuries ago, I was revered as a goddess of healing. Even in my diminished state, I could still heal most human injuries and medical ailments with the touch of my fingertips. Lara determined that this should be the main tool that I used to gain the gratitude, respect and reverence of humans.

Before I even delivered my first sermon, Lara used her spies and business contacts in the city of Chicago to point certain people in my direction. They spread the word to hundreds of Chicago residents that I could help them survive their battles with AIDS, cancer and heart disease, even when their doctors could not.

I learned that religion was ninety percent theatre. The remaining ten percent was boring stuff, like planning, real estate, insurance, and paying bills.

My sermons were passionate speeches about compassion, social justice and the strong helping the weak and the less fortunate. There was nothing especially unique or original about my sermons. They were almost indistinguishable from thousands of other sermons that you could hear in thousands of other churches all across America.

What was unique in my church were the healings that I performed in front of my congregation.

My congregation was comprised of bus drivers, convenience store managers, fitness trainers, soccer coaches, hotel workers, college students, high school teachers, auto mechanics, cab drivers, veterans, teenagers and even a few homeless people.

Every Sunday somebody in the congregation came in with a respiratory disease, liver damage, broken bones, torn ligaments, burns, chlamydia or some other medical problem. Most of these medical problems were work related. This was especially true of the cab drivers. They were a prime target of armed robbers, and I had healed a multitude of cab drivers who had sustained gunshot wounds.

“Is there anyone in the congregation in need of a healing?” I shouted passionately from the dais of my church on a typical Sunday morning.

“Me! I need a healing,” shouted one a man from the third row, as he shot to his feet and throw his arms up, in a vigorous attempt to gain my attention.

He was a white man of middle-age. He was neither noticeably attractive, nor noticeably ugly. There was nothing really remarkable about him…except for the bandages on his left hand.

“Our brother needs a healing,” I announced forcefully from the altar, “Our bother is in his hour of need! Our brother has come here for aid and comfort!”

There was an enthusiastic sprint as the wounded man rushed the stage. He was a tall man. He stood about three or four inches taller than me, however, everyone was focusing their attention on me. I was the ringmaster of this performance. 

“What is your name, brother?” I asked boisterously, focusing more on his wounded hand, than making eye contact.

“Steve,” the guy with the wounded hand said, Steve the wounded guy.

“Steve,” I demanded, “what happened to your hand?”

“I was trimming the hedges,” Steve replied, “I was using an electric hedge trimmer, and I accidentally cut through two of my fingers. Sliced through them deep. If I cut them any deeper, I might have cut them right off.”

Visuals are important for good theatre, so I had Steve remove the bandages and allowed the whole congregation to see how bad his fingers looked. A public healing isn’t really a public healing if the audience can’t see how badly wounded the unfortunate person was before he got healed.

Steve unrolled the bandages and I had him hold his hand up high. It was a mess. The fingers were scarred, red and swollen and there were a multitude of stitches holding his fingers together. The stitches were black, and the ends of his stitches stuck out in differing diagonal directions. It looked as if Steve had a small swarm of angry wasps perched threateningly upon his fingers.

 

“People,” I called out, “good people of Chicago, Steve is in pain, but we are not going to allow him to remain this way! We will make Steve whole again! Now join hands and pray to me, that I might heal Steve and repair his damaged flesh!”

I had a large silver bowl on the dais, filled with water. I didn’t need it, however, Lara told me it would make for better theatre if it was there. People seemed to think that water held mystical properties, like holy water, the fountain of youth or sacred wells. Lara believed that If I used water in my healing ceremonies, it would make the healings more memorable and give me more credibility.

Other aesthetic touches that supposedly made for better theatre were the two carved, marble statues of angels up on the dais behind me. Also, everything I wore for these church events was pure white, white pants, white shoes and white shirts. Supposedly the color white helps to project an image of holiness, innocence and compassion. 

As my congregation joined hands, and prayed to me, I sank my hands into the bowl, filled my hands with water and then held them up, as if I intended to drink the water I had just retrieved.

There was a heady rush as my congregation prayed to me. My blood sang as it surged through my veins. I was feeding on a sort of energy that was so potent I began to feel pleasantly light-headed and giddy as I consumed it.

Gods are creatures of force and spirit and belief, and as hundreds of people prayed to me, imploring that I make Steve whole again, the energy of their faith and belief flooded into me and my heart raced. I stood there panting, my eyes only half open and I felt my mouth stretching into a widening grin.

Their prayers made me feel vigorous, strong and intensely stimulated. It was an exquisite feeling.

The prayers weren’t necessary for me to heal Steve’s hand; however, my congregation didn’t need to know that. Their prayers and their belief in me were what I needed to become stronger and more powerful. I could feel potent energies flowing through my veins as they prayed to me.

Steve’s hand healed while I was feeling the intense rush of potent energies flow into me. The stitches were still there, however his fingers were no longer red or swollen. Even the scars were gone. Damage that would have taken years for Steve’s body to heal, had been healed within scant seconds.

 

“Steve is healed,” I shouted triumphantly at my congregation and they collectively let out a cheer of victory. And when Steve returned to his seat, dozens of parishioners embraced him. Spirits were high and everyone underneath my roof was thrilled to be a part of this. They didn’t understand how the healing worked, but they knew that something extraordinary had just happened.

 

I healed three other people that morning, and I was riding a wave of euphoria from the energy of the faith and worshipful reverence I’d absorbed from my congregation. I was bursting with energy. I felt like I was unstoppable, like I could do anything. There was an intense sensation of thrumming power that spread through my body and made me feel stronger than I had in centuries.

_____________

Of course, Lara checked up on me. She didn’t really care about my church; however, she did care about how powerful I became now that I had worshippers once again. 

There were obvious signs that I was becoming more powerful. As a white court vampire, Lara drains life energy from her lovers every time she has sex with them. When I first met Lara, the life energy she drained from me left me feeling weak and defenseless immediately after we had sex. For several minutes afterwards, I would lie limp and lifeless, and attempt to recover my strength.

After several weeks of having worshippers, I had a much greater abundance of life energy. Lara was draining the same amount of life energy from me as before, however, I didn’t feel weak or lethargic afterwards. I had so much life energy, Lara could feed off me as much as she liked, and I still felt strong and energetic. It was like my life energy was the size of an ocean and Lara was drinking a few liters of it at a time. She could never feed off me enough to make me feel weak ever again. 

“Ready for a trip down to the dungeon?” Lara asked me as we lay naked in her bed. I wasn’t really big into bondage and I told her so.

“This isn’t about bondage,” Lara explained to me, “This is about testing your limits now that you’re becoming a goddess once again. I’m quite certain that you’ve gained a number of benefits now that you have worshippers once again.”

_____________

Down in the dungeon, I encountered chains and iron shackles. The chains looked heavy, sturdy and extraordinarily solid. They also looked ancient. I wondered who had been bound in these shackles. 

“Can you rip one of these chains out of the wall?” Lara asked, and I looked at the chains dubiously.

The chains were anchored to a cinderblock wall by means of a metal ring attached to a metal plate that was bolted to the wall. The whole arrangement looked to be very secure and sturdy. I felt much stronger now than the first time I had met Lara, however ripping iron bolts out of a cinderblock wall didn’t seem feasible.

I sighed heavily, grabbed one of the chains and pulled.

“Are you even trying, darling?” Lara asked, obviously unimpressed by my performance, “Hannah, show some enthusiasm for your work. Put some effort into it!”

I braced my foot against the dungeon wall and tightened my grip on the chain. With a mighty grunt, I yanked on the chain as hard as I could, and I felt the metal begin to give. A few seconds later, there was a loud metallic snapping noise and one of the iron links in the chain snapped and exploded like so much shrapnel. I fell on my butt and held in my hands the length of chain that I had ripped away from the wall.

“Now, that is a show of strength worthy of a supernatural predator,” Lara said, applauding my performance.

“Are you in need of a supernatural predator?” I asked, still sitting on the floor of Lara’s dungeon, “Do you need somebody to batter the large troll that’s living underneath your bridge?”

Lara raised one of her eyebrows and looked at me in a quizzical manner. I’m guessing that her education never included an introduction to fairy tales like the Three Billy Goats Gruff.

I didn’t bother to explain the reference, and the silence in the dungeon eventually became so uncomfortable that Lara chose to fill the silence by explaining her need for a supernatural predator.

“I have plans and agendas in Chicago,” Lara explained, “however, there are others in this town with conflicting agendas. There is a crime boss named Johnny Marcone who owns even more properties and businesses than I do. Of late, his associates have made incursions into my territories, testing my reactions. His trespasses thus far have been negligible, however, at some point his agendas and mine will come into conflict and he’ll need to be taught not to meddle in my affairs.”

“So, you want a supernatural predator to put the fear of god into a Chicago crime boss?” I asked.

Lara gave me a thoughtful look and seemed to consider my question for several seconds before answering.

“Perhaps I will need you to send a message of sorts to the crime boss,” she finally answered, “or perhaps not. In any event, Marcone is not the only force in Chicago with the potential to interfere with my plans. The Black Court continues to send their agents into Chicago with agendas of their own and will probably require a violent demonstration at some point to illustrate why they should refrain from interfering with my affairs. There is Skavis and Malvora, other White Court Houses, who hatch plots and could pose a threat to House Raith soon. There is also a wizard named Dresden who seems to have no agenda, however, he has a talent for disrupting the agendas of others. He is powerful and unpredictable. And he has a way of showing up at the wrong place at the wrong time and disrupting carefully laid plans.”

“I think I get it,” I said, finally pushing myself up off the floor and standing upright once again, “You have potential enemies, and you want a being of extraordinary power in your arsenal that you can use whenever your enemies meddle too much in your affairs.”

“I would not call upon your skills often,” Lara replied, “House Raith frowns upon ostentatious displays of violence. We prefer to work our agendas with quiet elegance and subtlety whenever possible.”

And just like that, I agreed to be a supernatural enforcer, who would terrorize and slaughter Lara’s enemies, if she ever called upon me to do so.

**\- - -**

In theory, Lara’s plan to use me as her supernatural assassin was a sound one. In practice, it fell apart like an eggshell being trampled by a herd of stampeding bulls.

Hannah Higgins was most famous for her miraculous healing abilities. Making certain that people never stopped worshipping me meant consistently healing believers and potential believers. I was averaging about six public healings every Sunday morning, plus about another four private healings during the rest of the week. I made certain people didn’t forget about me.

Mostly people came to my church to be healed, however, there were exceptions to that rule. Susan Asher was a sixty-two-year-old woman with a fractured hip. I’ve never experienced the pain of a fractured hip before, however I understand that they are very painful and severely limit your mobility. Susan either couldn’t or wouldn’t make the trip down to my church, and thus I was forced to make the trip out to her apartment building on West Adams to work my healing magic.

In the lobby of her apartment building, I pressed the button for Susan’s apartment. I was expecting the voice of a typical grandmotherly sort of woman to respond. Instead, my attempts at communication were met with a resounding, arrogant female voice, shouting out, _“Oh, fucking hell!”_

“Susan Asher?” I ventured, thinking perhaps I’d been given the wrong apartment number.

“Yes, this is Susan Asher,” the cantankerous female voice replied, “Who the hell are you?”

I sighed, rolled my eyes hard enough to strain the rectus muscles of my eyes and replied into the microphone, “This is Hannah Higgins. I’m here about your fractured hip. Your granddaughter supposedly arranged everything with you in advance.”

“Higgins,” the imperious female voice said, “Oh yes, the fraud. Well, I suppose you may as well come in, so we can get this over with.”

I rolled my eyes again. Humans could be such cynics and curmudgeons. Susan was lucky that I still wanted more believers and worshippers. She certainly wasn’t going to motivate me to help her with her winning personality.

 

A middle-aged woman opened the door to let me into Susan’s apartment. The middle-aged woman seemed to be eager to get out of the room before Susan and I had a chance to speak, and she scurried away at her first opportunity. I’m guessing that she was some sort of personal care aide or a housekeeper, that wasn’t too fond of her employer.

Susan Asher herself was a small woman in a recliner. She wore a floral housecoat and thick glasses and had hair that was shockingly white and pulled back into a severe bun. She reminded me of those humorless librarians who are always sternly admonishing people for speaking aloud in a library.

She gave me an intense look that seemed to be accusing me of something. Her eyes were piercing and intelligent. I almost got the impression that she was a wizard of the White Council about to do a soul gaze.

“Well, you’re very pretty for a fraud,” Susan proclaimed imperiously from her recliner, “An attractive woman like you could get herself some honest work. Plenty of modeling jobs in the city of Chicago. I don’t suppose you’ve looked into any of them.”

“And what makes you so certain that I’m a fraud?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest in a defiant gesture.

 _“Hah!_ I’m not some starry-eyed teenager, like my granddaughter,” Susan exclaimed, “Faith-healers are always frauds! Benny Hinn, Larry Maxwell, Oral Roberts and the like! You’re all snake oil salesmen! You think I’m stupid and gullible?”

“No,” I replied, with my arms still crossed in front of me, “I think that you’re a cranky, snappish and irritating old woman. You’re about as much fun as a bad case of syphilis.”

Susan’s mouth dropped open and she stared at me for a long time. Apparently, I’d gone way off script. She was expecting some sort of smooth-talking fraud that would flatter her, tell her pretty lies and charm her out of her money. Instead I told her that she was a pain in the ass. 

“I like you,” Susan finally replied, “You’re not some sort of bombastic preacher making flowery speeches about peace and love and how you’re doing God’s will. You’re blunt and plainspoken. No overblown, pretentious bullshit.”

“Thanks,” I said, somewhat taken aback at the compliment.

“You’re still a fraud,” Susan added, “But a plainspoken fraud. I don’t know how that’s going to work out for you, though. It seems counterintuitive to me. Frauds need to tell lots of lies. You’re going to confuse yourself if you try to be dishonest and plainspoken at the same time.”

I rolled my eyes again and said, “Maybe I’m actually telling the truth. Maybe I’m not in danger of confusing myself, because I can heal people’s injuries with a few seconds of physical contact.”

 _“Hah,”_ Susan exclaimed contemptuously, “If you could really do that, you’d be up at Northwest Memorial, making money hand over fist, and putting all the other doctors out of work! I don’t know what your angle is, but you aren’t going around healing people with the touch of your fingertips! Even if my granddaughter is naive enough to believe in you, I’m not falling for it!”

 

“You know what my angle is?” I asked defiantly, “I heal people. And then people revere me for the amazing things I do.”

Then I grabbed her wrist and immediately a rush of mystical energies flooded down my arm and into my hand.

Susan had called me plainspoken. And as if to prove her right, I told her exactly what my game was. I wanted to be revered by mortals. I wanted their awe and reverence and gratitude. I didn’t tell Susan exactly why I wanted this, but I was honest when I told her what I wanted.

Susan reacted predictably when I reached out and grabbed her wrist without warning. She reflexively tried to break free from my grip. Of course, she failed in her attempt. I was far stronger than her. She struggled with all of her might, and still made no progress in breaking free or even loosening my grip.

 _“What the fuck are you doing?”_ Susan Asher demanded as she felt the mystical energies from my fingertips travel down her arm and all across her body, searching for broken bones, torn muscle tissue or other obvious damage that needed fixing. The energies I unleashed from my body to hers seemed almost sentient. They found damage and fixed it. There was no need for me to explain what needed to be done. The mystical energies I unleashed understood perfectly the role they were to play, and they did it perfectly every time.

 _“Aarghh,”_ the old woman screamed inarticulately, however, the look on her face rapidly changed from outrage to confusion to fascination.

“You did something to me,” Susan observed, her voice soft and tentative, “There was a surge…like electricity, only not painful. It was glorious, it was breathtaking, it was…”

She gave me a curious look, and then lifted herself up out of her chair. Her hip was perfectly fine and supported her weight without any difficulty. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. What I had done was so unexpected, she was utterly dumbstruck for several seconds.

“You’re _not_ a fraud,” she proclaimed when she was once again able to form words.

“Nope,” I agreed readily.

“What are you then?” Susan asked, “What you did just now isn’t normal. Nobody that’s a normal person can do what you just did.”

“I’m Hannah Higgins,” I replied, “And I can do the impossible.”

Susan spent the next fifteen minutes asking me questions and attempting to pry answers out of me. I gave her evasive answers that left her with half-formed ideas and even more questions. I just wanted mortals to worship me and believe in me. I didn’t want to answer any of their questions about who and what I was.

In retrospect, that was a mistake on my part. It would have been wise to craft an identity for myself. Worshippers give gods power; however, they also craft our identities with their beliefs. By not taking an active role in guiding what they believed, I was allowing them to choose an identity for me.


	2. A damsel in distress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious young woman comes to Chicago and needs to be rescued from a supernatural threat. Hannah never thought of herself as a hero, however, she ends up rescuing the young woman anyway.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own the legal rights to Lara Raith. Lara Raith is a character that was created by Jim Butcher for his stories about a fictional private investigator/wizard named Harry Dresden. I am merely borrowing Lara for a short time to bring a little fan-fiction entertainment to your lives.

**_________________________**

 

I left Susan Asher’s apartment building and walked about half a block, to where I had parked my car. I was feeling rather pleased with myself. I had made a believer out of Susan Asher, and a bold, extroverted woman like Susan would spread the word and make more believers.

My legend was growing, and Chicago was a large city with over two million people in residence. Such a densely populated city was rife with potential for recruiting mortals to worship me.

I was in such high spirits that I failed to notice the disturbance in the parking lot just a few yards away. At least I failed to notice it, until after the ear-splitting cries for help pierced the air, and drew my attention.  
_  
“Help,”_ a woman’s voice called out, _“Help please!!”_

The woman had a set of lungs on her. I would have needed to be deaf to not hear her screams. I ventured into the direction of the sound of her voice to investigate what could cause such a clamor.

Even when I got closer, the woman with the powerful lungs was still obscured from my sight, however the cause of her panic was obvious. 

Two very menacing females seemed intent on dragging the panicky woman out from underneath a parked vehicle. And the malicious expressions on these women’s faces wasn’t the most disturbing thing about them.

Both of the women were barefoot, and they were lacking in human feet. Their feet strongly resembled eagle’s talons. A moment’s observation revealed that they also had something very similar to eagle’s talons where their hands should be.

They also had sharp, spikey-looking feathers growing out of their scalp instead of hair, and impressively huge wings growing out of their backs. 

One of the women crouched low and held her hands/talons at the ready, eager to snatch her cornered victim if it attempted to bolt. The other birdlike antagonist smashed out all the vehicle’s headlights, scratched deep gouges in the car’s paintjob and tore off one of the rearview mirrors. She seemed to be intent on making as much noise as possible while she attacked the car.

I immediately recognized this as predator behavior. The one bird-lady made as much of a disturbing, strident clamor as possible, trying to induce panic in her prey. The other bird-lady was set to pounce on the prey the instant it panicked enough that it abandoned it’s hiding place and tried to run.

Neither of the predatory females had noticed me yet, and there was a section of my brain that was urgently reminding me that I could leave at any time and the malicious women would never even know that I was there. I could go back to living my normal life without these creepy women molesting me in any way.

However, there was another section of my brain what was pointing out just as urgently that that woman underneath the car desperately needed my help.

 

During the centuries that I had passed myself off as human, I had worked very hard at steering clear of wars, revolutions, witch trials, pogroms, riots and avoiding conflict in general. I had gotten so experienced at it, that it was reflexive. I could do it very well, without expending any real effort.

Which is why I surprised myself greatly when I took three steps forward, and bellowed, “Did somebody here call for my help?”

 

Both of the bird women turned to face me and gave me a malevolent look. The one closest to me pulled her lips back, revealing greyish gums and unnaturally sharp teeth. While they were doing this, the woman underneath the car pleaded for my assistance once again.

“Have a care foolish mortal,” the one with the sharp teeth advised, “We are not currently concerned with you. It would be in your best interest if things remained that way.”

I was outnumbered two to one, and I was unarmed. The practical thing to do would have been to take up the bird-woman on her offer, however my mouth seemed to be forming words without checking with my brain first.

“I’m no mortal,” I replied, “I’ve been around for centuries. I was there at the Battle of Milvian Bridge. And I’m the guardian of this city. And you can’t come into Chicago and start hunting my people like hunting rabbits in the brush. I am dauntless in the protection of my people.”

I had no idea where those words came from. I had never considered myself the guardian of Chicago before. I had never before considered it my responsibility to protect the people of this city, and yet, after the words fell from my lips, I actually thought they sounded impressive and praiseworthy. 

“This girl is not one of your people,” said the bird-woman that had been vandalizing the car, “We tried to abduct her in Memphis, however someone warned her that we were coming, and she fled from us. If not for that warning, we would have captured her days ago, and she would never have set foot in your territory.”

When the bird-woman said the word “someone”, she said it with such vehemence that it sounded like a toxic profanity. I guessed that whoever warned their quarry that the bird-women were coming, they had probably died a very painful death by now.

The two predatory women glared at me as I faced them down. The woman hiding underneath the car may not have been a resident of Chicago, however, her feet had touched Chicago soil and she had called out for my help. I made up my mind that that was enough for me to claim her as one of my own. I was about to explain my decision to the two predatory bird-women when I felt an explosion of white-hot pain in my chest.

 _“Aaaaauughhhhhhh,”_ I exclaimed in sudden, blinding agony.

I had never known excruciating pain like this before. It was a new and unwelcome sort of suffering. And when I opened my eyes and looked down, I saw the tip of a blood-soaked sword sticking out of my chest.

_They stuck a sword in me!_

I had lived through the fall of the Roman Empire, the ignorant violence of the Dark Ages, the Crusades, the Inquisition and dozens of European wars and in all those centuries, not once had anyone ever stabbed me with a sword.

I didn’t care for it.

I had been stabbed from behind, thus I couldn’t see the face of my attacker, however I assumed it was an ally of the predatory women in front of me. Seriously, who else would have had a motive for stabbing me?

“Excellent work, Pallas,” said the bird-woman with the sharp teeth.

“She won’t be bothering you anymore,” said the voice of the woman who stabbed me, and then I felt the sword being yanked out of my ribcage.

Much to my shock, the sword hurt even worse coming out, than it did going in. I felt an explosion of agony run through my body and I very nearly lost consciousness.

I made an inarticulate sound and collapsed to my knees. The sudden and excruciating pain had overloaded my nervous system. For a few seconds it seemed that I couldn’t move. I tried to say something defiant and resentful but ended up coughing up a disturbingly large amount of blood instead.

“Can the two of you capture one little girl?” the woman who had stabbed me inquired, “Or do you need my assistance for that as well?”

“Shut up, Pallas,” said the one who was destroying the car, and then she sank her claws deep into the hood of the car and attempted to rip it from the car’s frame. She was denting the hood and warping the shape of the metal but seemed to have trouble tearing it away from the car. The woman underneath the car heard metal being torn and crumpled and she screamed once again.

And while the bird-women traded sullen verbal barbs with each other, the pain of being stabbed rapidly faded. My body healed from the stab wound far more rapidly than I would have thought possible, and the pain ebbed until it had completely disappeared.

I realized that this was a benefit of being worshipped by humans once again. Their belief in me made me stronger and allowed me to heal from a massive stab wound in a matter of seconds. I felt like a goddess, once again. I felt invincible and unstoppable.

I got down on my hands and knees and swung my right leg around behind me. I put a lot of force behind that swing, but I swung blind. I was so intent on attacking before they realized I had recovered from being stabbed, that I didn’t take the time to look behind me and aim my attack. 

However, luck was with me that day, and I heard a loud “crunch” sound as my foot connected with something solid. Then there was an inarticulate scream of pain that made me smile. 

I turned around and saw another bird-woman on the ground behind me. She had dropped her sword and her right leg was twisted at an odd angle, as if she had dislocated her knee.

As if I had dislocated her knee.

The thought that I had dislocated her knee made me smile. Getting stabbed through the chest was the most excruciatingly painful thing that had ever happened to me. This bitch deserved any sort of pain I could dish out to her.

Her face was twisted into a mask of pain and anger as she inched forward and tried to grab her sword from where it lay on the ground. I quickly decided that it would be a bad idea for her to ever get her hands on the sword again, so I kicked her in the face.

Blood spurted from her nose and she made an enraged hissing noise at me. I tried to kick her again, however she scrabbled backwards, out of range.

“Impertinent meddler,” the bird-woman snapped at me, “You will pay for your trespasses into my affairs!”

When she backpaddled away from me, I made an attempt to grab her sword, however the other two bird-women snuck up behind me and grabbed me with their talonlike hands and pulled me back. 

“What’s the matter, Pallas,” asked the bird-woman clutching my left arm, “Can’t you kill one little girl without help?”

“You’re an useless wastrel, Fonias,” Pallas said sharply, “After I disembowel this interloper, I fully intend to-“

The one called Pallas painfully forced her kneecap back into place, staggered over on unsteady legs and attempted to grab her sword up off the ground, however, when she was close enough, I spun around in a violent attempt to throw off both of the women who were holding onto me. They held on tenaciously, however I was stronger than they were, I threw them both off balance and spun hard enough to smash the one called Fonias into Pallas. They both went down in a tumble of arms and legs, and the last bird-woman tore the sleeve off my shirt as I shook her loose.

For a few seconds, the third bird-woman and I were the only ones standing. We both eyed the sword on the ground, and knew that whoever managed to grab it would have a strategic advantage.

We both moved with impressive speed. I darted forward like a Black Mamba and my hand struck out with blurring speed, however the bird-woman moved about a half-second faster. She grabbed the sword in her talonlike hand, lifted her prize off the ground and quickly took two graceful steps backwards.

“Hah,” the bird-woman exclaimed mockingly, as she held up her prize. Now that she had grabbed the only weapon on the battlefield, she seemed intent to mock me with her victory.

I didn’t have a lot of experience with combat, but it seemed to me that when you had the advantage, you shouldn’t waste time gloating about it. You should continue attacking your opponent. 

I took advantage of my opponent’s mistake and drove my foot into her solar plexus with a powerful roundhouse kick. It took her utterly by surprise and she went sailing through the air.

I hadn’t expected that.

I was much stronger now that I had worshippers. My foot smashed into my opponent with the force of a cannonball. It knocked her off her feet and sent her careening through the air until she smashed into a parked car.

There was a loud crash as the back of her skull smashed the windshield. The impact must have taken a lot out of her, and she was too stunned to move at first. I decided to take advantage of her inactivity and rushed forward.

I pulled the sword out of her unresisting talon and she just groaned. She didn’t even open her eyes. I considered shoving the sword into her unmoving form when I felt a sharp, sudden pain in my wrist.

 

The one named Pallas had sunk her talons painfully deep into my wrist and had an ironlike grip. I couldn’t stab her as she was holding my sword-arm and breaking her hold would take a great deal of effort. So, I decided to punch her in the face instead.

 

Pallas had better combat skills than her compatriot, and when I tried to punch her in the face, she used her other talonlike hand to block me.

She had quick reflexes and she was strong. I considered headbutting her. It was an unorthodox move, and she probably wouldn’t be expecting it. Also, I had already broken her nose, so if I bashed it again, it would hurt like hell.

Then, the bitch surprised me by unfurling those massive wings of hers and flapping them. We were airborne almost instantly and I looked down in horror as the parking lot became smaller and smaller.

“We’re in my element now, meddler,” Pallas proclaimed arrogantly, “What good is a sword going to do you up here?”

Within seconds Pallas had taken us to an altitude of two-hundred feet or more. If I killed her now, we’d both die. I couldn’t survive a fall from this height and Pallas knew it. She had me in a bind, and I saw no way of escaping.

“So, those are your people down below us?” Pallas asked mockingly, “And if I drop you, what will your people do to save you? Will they catch you before you hit the ground?”

I just glared at her. I didn’t have a ready retort for that one.

 

I looked into Pallas’s cold, merciless eyes and I knew then that she was going to drop me. I was almost certain that I couldn’t survive a fall from this height and my mind raced, looking for something bitter and defiant to say before I died. I wanted my last words to be impassioned, poetic and memorable. I wanted to hurl words of stinging-sharp recrimination that would twist in her guts like a knife and haunt her until the day she died.

“Hag,” I screamed furiously at her, and immediately felt deeply disappointed in myself. Were those really going to be my last words? Was that really the best I could come up with? Those were horrible last words! I wanted a do-over.

And then the inevitable happened. The bitch dropped me.

Gravity took hold and I felt the disturbing and disorienting sensation of freefall. The ground was coming up to meet me at a distressing rate of speed and it looked really solid. My heart pounded urgently in my chest and I felt a spike of adrenaline hit my bloodstream, shocking every nerve ending into hyperawareness.

I screamed inarticulately, knowing that the sudden and violent impact with the ground was going to hurt far worse than getting stabbed with a sword. I screamed a long and ragged scream, making my throat mightily sore in the process.

Then, there was a strange and unexpected pain between my shoulder blades accompanied by a ripping sound.

The pain between my shoulder blades intensified, and then the ground suddenly wasn’t getting closer anymore.

“Holy fucking fuck,” I swore softly and realized I was hovering. I clenched my teeth, tightened my abdominal muscles and then saw that I was gaining altitude.

I could feel nerve endings in extremities that I never had before. There were bones and muscles growing out of my back that I could put into motion, just like I did with my arms and legs.

Wings.

I had wings growing out of my back! And they worked!!

I was flying!!

Obviously, this wasn’t normal. I had never had wings before, and I wasn’t certain as to why I had them now, however, they had saved my life. I wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. I was going to use them, and hopefully they could continue to keep me alive.

 

I swooped down and glided down near the surface of the earth. I realized I had no idea how to land gracefully and was almost certain that I was going to have to crash. Rather than avoid the inevitable, I decided to make my crash-landing work for me by crashing into one of the bird-women that were still in the parking lot.

I wasn’t the only one surprised by the fact that I had sprouted wings and learned to fly. The bird-women were surprised by this development as well. One of them saw me approaching as I sped towards her, however, she was too shocked to react.

I hurled towards her like a bowling ball shooting towards a group of bowling pins. Her mouth dropped open in shock as I rapidly advanced upon her, and when my body smashed into hers, she went down just like a group of unsuspecting weeds hit by a weed-wacker.

My face broke into a wide grin as I savored the blunt force impact that I used to knock down my opponent. I had hit her like a battering ram and bowled her over. For the moment she was too stunned to get back up, and I was one my feet and ready for combat.

I almost got hit by a high-speed attack myself. Pallas came hurtling out of the sky in a trajectory very much like the one I had just used to knock down her compatriot. She was coming in feet first, like a baseball player sliding into home plate, her feet talons extended outwards, and at high speeds those talons would likely tear me to ribbons.

Rather than attempt to dodge her attack, I waited until the last possible second and met Pallas’s hurtling charge with a forward lunge with my sword. I wasn’t very experienced with swords; however, I was very strong, coordinated and timed my attack just right. And when I swung my weapon at my birdlike opponent, I sliced into the flesh of her leg, cleaving it off somewhere just above the knee.

Pallas let out a blood-curdling scream that hit my eardrums like the howl of a dozen banshees. There was an explosion of blood as her leg was separated from the rest of her body and she hit the ground, writhing in pain.

I think I might have sliced through her femoral artery when I cut off Pallas’s leg. We were both drenched in her blood and her leg continued to spurt thick, red liquid. She thrashed around in agony and her screams resounded and bounced off the walls of nearby buildings for a few seconds, however the life ebbed out of her quickly and within seconds she was dead.

“I told you,” I said defiantly to Pallas’s corpse, “you can’t come to my city and hunt my people!”

The bird woman that I had hit with a flying battering-ram attack attempted to sit up and claw me with her talonlike hands. I swung my sword with both hands and cut her hand off at the wrist. Once again there was screaming, but this time I cut it short by swinging my sword again and slicing deep into her throat.

I was covered with blood at this point, but my heart was pounding like mad and I was filled with adrenaline. I sprinted across the parking lot and found the last of the bird-women.

As I ran towards her, I observed that she wasn’t running. She was just standing there, seemingly unconcerned as I rushed towards her with a blood-stained sword in my hand. I had a few seconds to judge her behavior as odd, however I wasn’t really concerned. If she just stood there and didn’t move, it would make it much easier for me to stab her.

Then, the bitch shot me.

She had been hiding a speargun behind her back the entire time I had been running towards her. When I got close enough she shot me in the leg. A long, thin metal projectile lodged in my thigh and I tumbled to the ground as my right leg suddenly became paralyzed with pain and stopped working.

My brain filled with rage and my body throbbed with a riotous orchestra of pain. I wanted to kill the bitch who shot me, however I needed to get the damn spear out of my leg first. Until then, the pain was going to leave me damn near incapacitated.

I dropped the sword and grabbed one end of the stainless-steel projectile with both hands. I tried to yank the thing all the way out, however it was more difficult than I had thought it would be.

“Aaaaaaaaarrghhhhhhhh,” I screamed as I pulled the thing out, causing the pain and the bleeding to become much worse in the process.

“Don’t bother,” the bird-woman said as I painfully tore the intrusive piece of metal out of my leg, “You’re not going to be alive long enough for it to matter.”

I looked up from my wounded leg and saw what she meant.

Apparently, she had rapidly loaded another spear into her projectile weapon, and it was now pointing at my head. If she squeezed the trigger, the spear would probably sink into my skull and shred my brain. I was strongly opposed to that happening, however, the enraged bird-woman didn’t ask me for my opinion.

“Interloper,” the bird woman spat as she glared at me, “this is where it ends.” And as if to emphasize the point, a loud and ominous thunderclap sounded in the distance.

I wasn’t quick enough to dodge her attack, not with her standing less than twelve feet away. And I didn’t think there was any way for me to survive a direct shot to the skull with a mini-spear. I had a crazy hope that the distant thunderstorm would be attracted to her metal spear-gun and that it would be struck by lightning.

Yeah, that was a crazy hope.

“You killed my sisters,” the bird-woman accused, “however, I’m more clever and cunning than they were. I was careful enough to plan ahead for every- “

That’s as far as she got before she was run over by a battered Toyota pickup truck.

I was so focused on the speargun that I didn’t even notice the pickup truck heading towards her. Of course, she was so focused she didn’t notice the pickup truck either. It just accelerated swiftly and silently, and the front end of the truck smashed into her, driving her to the ground and breaking a multitude of bones in the process.

I couldn’t believe my good luck. I had time to breathe a powerful sigh of relief and then the truck shifted into reverse and backed over the bird-lady’s broken body.

There was a grinding of gears and then the truck drove forward, and I could hear the crunching sound of more bones breaking as the truck ran over the bird-woman again.

At that point, I was pretty certain that running over the bird-woman was no accident.

With all three bird-women dead, I felt certain that the danger over. I stood up and then the wings retracted into my upper-back. I didn’t make a conscious decision for the wings to disappear like that. They seemed to have a mind of their own and they just disappeared when it was clear the danger was over.

“Hey,” shouted a female voice from the driver’s seat of the pickup truck, “Is she dead?”

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that the occupant of the pickup truck was referring to the bird-creature that she had just run over. A quick examination revealed that the bird-woman’s head was twisted at a very unnatural angle. I took that to mean that her neck was broken. Closer examination also revealed that she wasn’t breathing and that there was a large pool of blood underneath her body.

“Looks dead to me,” I responded.

I staggered over and got close enough to get a good look at the woman behind the wheel of the truck. She looked old enough to drive, but not old enough to drink yet. She had haunted, wary eyes and long hair that was too red to be natural. She was also skinny, filthy, trembling and tensed as if she was about to bolt and jump into the nearest hidey-hole.

I can’t say as I blamed her. She was obviously the woman from underneath the car who had asked for my help.

“I saw what you did to those harpies,” the overwrought woman said, “Are you some sort of warrior-angel or something?”

My first thought was that warrior angel sounded like a classification that might be used in some low-budget science fiction movie, however, I also realized that there was no easy way to classify what I really was, and I didn’t really want to try and explain my true nature to someone I just met anyway.

So, I ended up replying, “Yeah, something like that.”

 

“My name’s Kelsey,” the frightened woman said, introducing herself, “You need me to take you to a hospital?”

I staggered over to the truck and realized that all things considered, I felt pretty good. I was covered in blood, I had been stabbed and I had been shot, however, I recovered from all of that within a matter of seconds.

“My name’s Hannah,” I responded, “and I’m pretty resilient. I think I’ll be okay without the hospital.”

Just then the rain started to come down. It was just a little sprinkle at first, but within seconds it went from a light sprinkle to a heavy downpour.

“Get in,” Kelsey shouted, “You just saved my life! It would be rude if I let you get soaked!”

My own car was parked nearby, but I didn’t argue. I had a multitude of questions for Kelsey and if I were a passenger in her truck, it would make asking them convenient and easy.

Kelsey drove forward, and we left three dead bodies behind us in the parking lot. I didn’t envy the police who found the bodies and were forced to decide what to do with them. Those creatures were so obviously not human, but it’s not like the police could just ignore their corpses and pretend they didn’t exist. 

“Is there a place we can go,” Kelsey asked, “someplace relatively safe?”

I decided to take Kelsey to my place. Both my church and my home were warded, and my wards would likely keep out anything hostile.

There were other gods in my pantheon who could work magic like a potter works clay; however, I was never very talented mystically. I mastered a few spells and rituals; however, I never reached the level of mastery of my peers.

Wards for instance, other members of my pantheon could put up powerful wards that would deal out lethal damage to anyone foolhardy enough to set foot in one of their fortresses, palaces or places of solitude.

The most I ever managed was a ward that would encourage potential intruders to go elsewhere.

I’ve used this type of ward for centuries. I don’t have to sink a lot of power into it, and it’s done an excellent job of keeping soldiers, mercenaries, inquisitors, slave-hunters and other hostile beings away from my door.

If a being with hostile intentions gets within fifty feet of my wards, they find themselves becoming easily distracted and confused. Their attention tends to get drawn away from my habitat. If they get within ten feet of my wards, they find themselves overcome with a feeling of unease and trepidation. These magical influences have spared hundreds of my homes from violent incursions in hundreds of cities.

And this ward has no effect on non-hostile beings, so I’ve never had to worry about hurting my friends or allies.

I told Kelsey to take us to my home, and I started to give her directions, so she could get us there.

“So, who the hell were those hawk-women?” I asked Kelsey, referring to the bird creatures that had almost killed me.

“Ordo sicariorum,” Kelsey explained, “Some sort of ancient secret order of assassins. My mother knew they were coming for me and gave me a warning like minutes before they would’ve caught me. That was three days ago. I packed a bag, got in my truck and I’ve been running from them ever since.”

“Ordo sicariorum,” I said, repeating back the name. I’d heard of them of course. They’ve been around for centuries. They’re basically killers for hire, however, they don’t typically go after humans. They usually go after much bigger targets, trolls, vampires, werewolves and warlocks. 

In the 1940’s they nearly got wiped off the face of the map. They had taken a number of very dangerous contracts and a huge number of their operatives got killed. I assumed they might get more cautious after that but going after humans? That just didn’t sound right.

I didn’t mention any of this out loud, and instead asked, “How did your mother know that you were about to be attacked?”

“She’s kinda psychic,” Kelsey replied as she drove, “Sometimes she knows things are going to happen before they happen.”

“She’s precognitive?” I asked.

Kelsey glanced at me, rolled her eyes and said, “Yeah, I guess that’s what you call it.”

 

“Well, that’s awesome,” I said, “Did she buy stock in Pfizer before they put Viagra on the market? If I had known how much their stock price was going to go up, I would have sunk a ton of cash into Pfizer.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Kelsey said, “Her visions usually only give her a heads up about stuff that’s going to happen in the next ten minutes or so. She’s never been able to see far enough ahead to play the stock market.”

“Oh,” I said. Precognition sounded like a great ability at first, but once Kelsey told me how limited her mother’s ability was, it put a damper on my enthusiasm. Seeing only a few minutes into the future wouldn’t give anybody a huge advantage.

“Well, at least she was able to give you a warning that you were about to be attacked,” I said.

“Just barely,” Kelsey agreed.

“When we get to my place, you can call your mom and let her know that you’re safe,” I said, “If you’ve been on the run for three days, she’s probably worried sick about you.”

I have a single level home out behind my church. I had Kelsey park her truck in my garage and brought her inside the house.

“Can I use your shower before I call my mom?” Kelsey asked, “I’ve haven’t had a shower in three days, and I’m kind of a mess. I’m kinda grossing myself out right now.”

I directed Kelsey to my bathroom and showed her where to find towels, shampoo and bodywash and gave her some privacy.

After I got Kelsey settled in the shower I called Lara, hoping to pump her for information and advice. Lara dealt with supernatural beings all the time. She was near immortal and had a network of spies, specialists and corrupt government officials at her beck and call. If there was anybody in Chicago that could give me useful information on the Ordo sicariorum, it would be Lara.

When I called her number, I got a household functionary who informed me that Lara was not available, but if I left my name and phone number, she would call me back as soon as possible.

While I waited for a return call, I stripped my clothes off, held them in my hands and examined them closely. My clothes were covered in blood stains and there were huge holes in my pant leg from where I got shot. 

My shirt was in even worse shape. There were holes in the shirt from where I got stabbed and even larger holes in the shirt from where wings had grown out of my back and torn through the fabric in the back. The shirt was absolutely shredded.

None of my clothes were salvageable. Even my shoes and panties were soaked in blood. Everything would have to go. I considered taking the all unsalvageable clothing outside and burning it, however the rain was coming down heavily at that point and it was far too wet to start a fire.

 

On the upside, I was completely healed from being stabbed and being shot. There wasn’t even any scar tissue left. I had been shot in the leg, however the flesh where I’d been shot was smooth and unblemished. I’d been stabbed in the chest, however there wasn’t even a hint of a scar anywhere on my chest.

I was becoming far more resilient. 

I dumped my blood-soaked clothes in a paper sack and resolved to burn them later. Then I called Katherine. Katherine didn’t have the resources that Lara had, however she was more than a century old and she knew something about the supernatural world. She might have some useful information.

After four rings, Katherine’s answering machine picked up and instructed me to leave a message. I talked to Katherine’s machine and explained that some really strange stuff had happened to me today, and I urged Katherine to call me back, so I could elaborate.

I had other friends in Chicago, however, they were all mortals with no connections to the world of the supernatural. I wasn’t about to tell them about what had happened to Kelsey.

Having no bright ideas about what to do next, I went to my wet bar cabinet and fixed myself a Cuba Libre. It had been a stressful day and the drink would help me to calm my nerves. I had almost been killed by homicidal bird-women, I learned quite suddenly that I could grow wings out of my back, and I now had a teenage girl under my roof and under my protection. I needed to steady my nerves before I made any more decisions. The alcohol would help push me in that direction.

I was on my second drink when Kelsey padded barefoot out of the shower, with a towel wrapped around her torso.

The alcohol was just beginning to hit my bloodstream and taking me to that deep, calm, untroubled state that I was hoping for, when Kelsey silently walked over to me, smelling of coconut-scented shampoo, her hair still dripping wet and I realized just how attractive she was.

In her truck, I hadn’t really thought of her as an attractive woman. In her truck, she mostly looked like a frightened animal, filthy, wide-eyed, trembling and ready to flee and a moment’s notice. Fresh from the shower, she looked different. She had smooth, flawless skin, lush, kissable lips, high cheekbones, and oval-shaped face, rounded shoulders, long legs and a slender waist.

Wait. Did I say kissable lips? No matter where my eyes wandered, they always came back to her lips. Why was I doing that? I was already in a relationship with a White Court Vampire. Those creatures were sex on legs. With her in my life, you’d think that I wouldn’t even be able to notice other women!

Kelsey looked me up and down with her soft, attentive eyes and said, “Is there a reason you’re naked?”

I looked down as my naked body as if I had just noticed my unclothed state for the first time and then looked back up at Kelsey. I had lived alone for so long, I had grown accustomed to taking my clothes off whenever I felt like it, in any room of the house. I wasn’t used to having guests.

“My clothes were all torn and covered in blood,” I explained, “They’re a lost cause. There’s no point in hanging on to them anymore.”

“Okay,” Kelsey replied. She waited a few seconds and then she added, “Listen, if you want me, you can have me. You saved my life today, and if you wanted me, I would be totally okay with that.”

Kelsey didn’t come right out and explain what she meant by “have me”, but it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. She was naked except for a terrycloth towel wrapped around her torso and hips, and her body looked firm, lithe supple and inviting. She was willing, and I’d had so many women like her before, however I felt hesitant about having sex with her. I was utterly confused by my own hesitation. Lara and I didn’t have a monogamous relationship. And Kelsey was nineteen years old, so she wasn’t a child. So, why did I hesitate?

“We’ll talk about that later,” I said, “Right now, you need to call your mom and let her know that you’re safe.”

There was a phone in the kitchen. I showed Kelsey where it was and left her to her phone conversation. The longer she spoke with her mom, the more time I would have to examine my own thoughts and feelings.

I had a long history of bedding women from all walks of life. I’d bedded milkmaids, courtesans, nuns, barmaids, flight attendants, school teachers, aerobics instructors and even a duchess or two. I never hesitated to take any of them to my bed, however, when Kelsey offered herself up to me, I paused and had to think it over.

Why was I on the fence about this? She was an attractive woman and she seemed more than willing to fall into my arms. 

I looked over at Kelsey and she was quite attractive. Now that she wasn’t filthy and twitching with nervous energy, I could see that she was actually tall, lithe and athletic looking. She had a slender, youthful beauty that I normally found delectable. Why wasn’t I jumping on her offer?

As Kelsey continued to speak with her mom, at some point she mentioned me and how I had saved her from three hostile pursuers and slain all three. Technically Kelsey had slain one of them herself, however, if Kelsey wanted to give me credit for dispatching them all, I wasn’t going to refuse credit. I suddenly liked the idea of having a reputation for slaying hostile supernatural creatures.

“She wants to talk to you,” Kelsey said suddenly and handed the phone over to me.

I was surprised at first, but it made sense. If my daughter had been in peril and then she had been saved by a complete stranger, I’d probably want to talk to that stranger as well. I took the phone’s receiver and I held it up to my head.

“Hello?” I said, somewhat uncertain how to proceed. Despite my proclamation that I was the Guardian of Chicago, I had never done this sort of thing before. I didn’t have a history of being the heroic type. I had spent centuries trying to blend in with the colorless masses and trying not to be noticed. Being a protector of the innocent was a new role for me.

“This is Mary Porter. I’m Kelsey’s mother,” said a female voice with a Southern drawl, “And I want to thank you for protecting my daughter. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“Mary,” I said hesitantly, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say that you’ll protect my daughter,” the woman said emphatically, “She’s the only family I’ve got. I never had any other children, and her father is a good for nothing jackass who died in prison.”

“Protect you daughter?” I asked, “I thought I already did that.”

“The Ordo sicariorum will send more people after her,” Mary replied, “I’ve seen visions. They want her bad. I don’t know why, but they’re jonesing for her really bad. Somebody needs to protect her.”

Suddenly I understood why I had an aversion to having sex with Kelsey. I had been cast into the role of Kelsey’s protector. As long as Kelsey was under my protection, having sex with her would be a breach of etiquette. 

“I’ll protect her,” I said to Mary, “You have my word on it.”

As if to add dramatic effect to my words the storm picked up and there was a booming thunderclap. The lights flickered, and it seemed like the power was about to go out, however the flickering stopped, and the power stabilized.

“I have a good feeling about you,” Mary confided in me, “I think my daughter is in good hands as long as she’s with you.”

Once I had assured Mary that I would keep her daughter safe, I handed the phone back to Kelsey and she continued to tell her mother about her perilous adventures in fleeing from the Ordo sicariorum. 

I was about to head over to my bedroom and get dressed when I noticed a small bloodstain on the towel that Kelsey had wrapped around her torso. It was small, about the size of a silver dollar, however on a white towel, fresh bloodstains tend to jump out at you. A deep red stain on a field of pristine white is incongruous and has a way of drawing your eyes in to focus on the anomalous color.

As I stood and watched, the blood stain on the towel grew even larger.

I hadn’t noticed any wounds on Kelsey when I first met her or brought her into my home, however, they could have been hidden. She had been fully and decently clothed when I first met her. Now she was wearing nothing but a towel.

I let Kelsey finish her phone call with her mother and then I pointed out the fact that she seemed to be wounded.

“Kelsey,” I said, “did you get stabbed by one of those bird-women when I wasn’t looking?”

She gave me questioning eyes, and I pointed to the spot on her upper back where she was bleeding. Kelsey then lowered the towel and I could see several blood-stained bandages taped to her back.

“That’s not from today,” Kelsey explained, “They jumped me in Union City about a day and a half ago. I have friends in Union City and thought maybe I’d be safe if I could hide out with them. But those bird-ladies caught up with me before I could make contact with my friends and I got ambushed.”

I wondered if the bird-women had a list of Kelsey’s friends and where they all lived. If so, they might have been waiting for her in Union City before she even got there.

“Could I take a look at your wound?” I asked, “That seems to be bleeding pretty bad for something that happened a day and a half ago.”

Kelsey dropped the towel completely and told me to go ahead. I removed the bandages as gently as I could and saw claw marks. Some of them were pretty deep.

“You should have gone to the hospital,” I told the teenager, “They cut you really deep. A doctor would have given you pain killers, antibiotics and stitched some of these wounds shut.”

“I was too scared to go to a hospital,” Kelsey said, “Whenever I stopped somewhere, they always seemed to find me. My best bet seemed to be to just keep driving as fast as I could and eventually maybe they’d give up. If I stopped in a hospital, they would have found me pretty quick.”

I nodded as if I understood and agreed with her. I wondered if the bird-women had planted a tracking device in her truck. I also wondered if they were using a tracking spell. Either way, it seemed that they were expending an unusually great deal of time and effort to chase after a teenage girl with a crappy truck, no money and nothing particularly remarkable or extraordinary about her.

My fingertips became slick with Kelsey’s blood as I examined her wound and without making a conscious decision to do it, I began to gather the energy to heal her.

Lately I’d been using my healing abilities to bolster my reputation and increase the numbers of believers I had following me, however, with Kelsey it was much more empathic than that. With Kelsey, I wasn’t doing it for practical reasons. I was doing it simply because I cared about her.

I licked some of the blood off my slick fingers and I felt thrumming of powerful, ancient forces as mystic energies traveled down my arms and into my hands. I placed my hands firmly on Kelsey’s back around the lacerations.

“I’m doing something to speed up the healing process”, I said, “You may experience a tingling sensation.”

In my church I would have done this with a lot of melodrama and a huge buildup. I would have whipped up the audience into an emotional frenzy. With Kelsey I was actually playing down the significance of what I was doing.

This wasn’t about theatre and drama. This was all about being unselfish and helping somebody just to help them.

Mystical energies flooded into my hands and Kelsey gasped. She stiffened, and I saw the wounds on her back ripple and spasm. A few seconds after that they quickly began to shrink. The wounds closed and the bruising and discoloration vanished. Within seven seconds, her skin became smooth and unblemished. Her back was still sticky with the blood she had already shed, however, there were no gashes, claw marks or even scratches.

“What was that?” Kelsey shouted at me, “That felt really weird! What did you do?”

Kelsey gingerly probed the area on her back where the claw marks used to be and made inarticulate noises of confusion as her fingertips explored her now undamaged flesh.

“What did you do?” Kelsey asked again, much more emphatic this time.

Kelsey then ran to my bathroom, stark naked at this point, and stood in front of the bathroom mirror, looking over her shoulder at the flesh on her back.

“It’s gone,” Kelsey shouted at me. Then there was another booming crash of thunder.

“How did you do that?” Kelsey asked, her mouth hanging wide open as she waited for my response.

Kelsey looked so young and cute as she stood there with her mouth hanging open. I was suddenly reminded of the fact that I was centuries older than her, that I had performed tens of thousands of healings before the country she was born in even existed. She was so young and inexperienced. It would take forever to explain to her the history of who I was and how I did the things that I do.

Rather than attempt to explain everything to her, I condensed the truth and simplified it.

“You called me a warrior angel,” I said, “however, I was working healing magic long before I ever picked up a sword. Combat is something new for me. Healing is my specialty.”

The look in Kelsey’s eyes was pure amazement. Her eyes were wide, and all lit up. I didn’t get half this much of a reaction out of her when I sprouted wings out of my back and flew over the streets of Chicago.

“This is the most incredible thing that has ever happened to me,” Kelsey exclaimed and then she gave me this starry-eyed look, as if I were Helen of Troy, Jesus Christ and Superman all rolled into one.

I was searching for something to say, however Kelsey kept looking at me as if I were the greatest person who had ever lived. I found it to be delightfully distracting and it made it difficult for me to formulate an appropriate response.

Before I could think of a single thing to say, Kelsey kissed me softly on the mouth and my body sort of took over. I stopped trying to formulate words and I became so incredibly aware of the fact that we were both naked. I melted into the kiss and my body temperature seemed to rise. Kelsey wrapped her arms around me and I could feel her skin against mine. She was so warm, almost hot. As her naked body entwined with mine, I could my own blood becoming hot in a passionate, libidinous sort of way.

Kelsey held her smooth, naked body up against mine. Her breasts were flattened up against mine and she rubbed herself up against me in a most pleasurable way. I held her close, breathed in her scent and felt her flesh against mine.

“Evil people tear me to shreds and then you make me whole again,” Kelsey whispered solemnly as she rubbed her naked body up against me, “I’m yours, forever and ever. You’re my goddess. Do whatever you want with me. I’ll follow you until the end of time.”

Kelsey was praying to me, worshipping me, I hadn’t expected that, however, it was the most potent experience I’d could remember ever having savored.

I’d had sex before, many times. And I’d been worshipped before, many times. However, I’d never had sex before with a believer as while they were worshipping me.

It was exquisite. The sexual foreplay was creating endorphins and a pleasant tingly feeling, while Kelsey’s feelings of reverence and belief flooded into me, making me feel strong, vigorous and unstoppable. It was like I was on some sort of incredibly potent and sensual drug.

I wrapped one arm passionately around Kelsey’s waist and grasped her firm, delectable buttocks with the other. Her skin of her buttocks was soft and smooth, but the muscles underneath the skin with firm and toned.

“Tell me more,” I urged Kelsey as I held her warm, naked body against my own, “Tell me that you believe in me. Tell me that I’m your champion. Tell me that I’m your goddess of war and your goddess of healing. Tell me that I’m your avenging angel and your goddess of ambrosial, mouthwatering sexual delights.”

Kelsey gasped and told me everything I wanted to hear. She believed everything she was saying, and my body flooded with a sort of energy that was so potent, it was intoxicating. My blood sang as the force of Kelsey’s belief and reverence surged through my veins. 

My heart raced. I stood there holding Kelsey and eventually my hand slid down her taut belly and found her moist, swollen nether lips. I was over two-thousand years old and had centuries worth of experience when it came to giving women pleasure. I worked two fingers into Kelsey’ wet sex and used my thumb to skillfully rub her hard, swollen clitoris while Kelsey continued to gasp and moan and tell me that I was her goddess.

Kelsey kissed passionately at my throat as I used my thumb to slide the hood away from her inflamed clit. We were both panting at this point and I felt my mouth stretching into a widening grin. 

The room was thrumming with energy, sexual, libidinous energy as well as the potent energies of an adherent worshipping their deity. The two combined to make something far more beautiful and delightful and potent than either one could ever be on their own. 

Kelsey and I were both panting, our chests both heaving and our blood racing, although not for the same reasons. Kelsey and I were both sexual creatures, however, I was also a creature of force and belief and Kelsey’s belief made me stronger and filled me with a with supernatural vigor.

It didn’t take long for me to discover the most sensitive and receptive nerve endings within Kelsey’s loins. I worked my fingers and my thumb, rubbing, probing and stroking, making Kelsey whimper and moan. The look on her face and she surged closer and closer to orgasm was adorable. I held off on bringing her to orgasm too quickly, knowing the longer I allowed her orgasm to build, the more powerful it would be.

Eventually we reached a point where words were no longer possible. Kelsey became inarticulate and was reduced to gasping and girlish panting. The noises she made were quite fetching. They got louder and louder as she raced closer and closer to orgasm, and the sounds of rain and thunder outside were soon drown out by Kelsey’s feminine sounds of sexual ecstasy.

“Oh, God! Oh, Goddess! Oh, Hannah,” Kelsey exclaimed as her body shuddered and trembled, with my fingers still inside her.

I could feel Kelsey’s vaginal muscles spasm and contract around my fingers. Her orgasm was powerful and intense and seemed to take an eternity to subside.

She panted, and as her breathing began to slow down, she gave me that look of starry-eyed admiration and reverence. She was infatuated and fascinated with me.

“I am so happy that you found me,” Kelsey exclaimed breathily, “You are the most incredible thing that has ever happened to me.”

I tried to formulate a response to that, preferably something that gave Kelsey a compliment in return, however once again I came up short. I seriously needed to work on my ability to come up with impressive verbal responses in real time. I was starting to notice a disturbing trend where my ability to come up with the right words quickly and effectively was sorely lacking.

I then arrived at a point where words were quite simply not important. Kelsey took two steps back, leaned over and proceeded to lick one of my erect, sensitive nipples with her tongue. There was an instant explosion of tingly sensations that radiated from my nipple and seemed to spread across most of my body.

I gasped in response to the delicious things that Kelsey’s tongue was doing and then proceeded to squirm and breathe in sharp, ragged, heaving inhalations.

For a nineteen-year old, Kelsey was quite skilled in what she was doing. Her worshipping me made my body much more sensitive and receptive to what her tongue and lips were doing to my body, however, she still had the mechanics of sapphic lovemaking down proficiently. She didn’t need any coaching from me. Her technique was quite excellent.

The more Kelsey licked and suckled at my nipple, the more responsive it became. My throat became tight and my nipple throbbed as Kelsey lavished attention on my sensitive nub. I felt my entire body heat up with feverish desire and my nipple swelled and ached and throbbed.

Kelsey’s tongue worked one nipple and then the other with wanton abandon, making me moan and gasp with feverish lust. I gasped and whimpered and then Kelsey trapped one of my nipples between her teeth and sucked on it, stimulating it even more intensely than before.

It seemed like Kelsey spent hours toying with my nipples, and my pubic lips were swollen and soaked with my own juices long before Kelsey got on her knees and began to pay attention to my vulva. I had very nearly gone made with desire by the time she finally got her face between my legs.

“So beautiful down here,” Kelsey said as she knelt between my thighs, and I let out a deep sigh. I get plenty of compliments on my face, my legs and my buttocks, however no one every seems to compliment me on my nether lips. A woman’s labia are where the clitoris is located. This is where most of the magic of sexual encounters take place. It seems to me that a woman’s pink pubic lips should be complimented every now and then.

“I could get lost in here,” Kelsey said, her face less than two inches away from my womanhood and then Kelsey’s tongue swirled intricate patterns across my swollen labia, exciting millions of sensitive nerve endings and making me tremble with desire.

“So beautiful, so pink,” Kelsey gushed, “so delicious.”

Then Kelsey’s tongue licked straight up, across the seam between my swollen nether lips, causing me to feel a powerful erotic charge, and making me go weak in the knees.

“Kelsey, my knees are going to buckle if you make me wait much longer,” I warned her, and then Kelsey placed her mouth directly over my sex and she took my swollen clit directly into her mouth and sucked on it like it was a piece of hard candy.

Kelsey grabbed my buttocks tightly with both hands and she vigorously devoured my swollen clit.

I screamed, shuddered and writhed as the teenager used her mouth on my sex to bring me to an earth-shattering, violent orgasm. My orgasm was like a tropical storm, building and building in strength until it became a category-five hurricane that could destroy an entire coastal village.

 _“Uuhhuhh...Aaaaaaahh...Ahhh! Huhhuh! Uhhh,”_ I screamed inarticulately, as the orgasm ripped through my naked, defenseless body and seemed to go on forever.


	3. The Mysterious Mister Rochau

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannah goes to Lara Raith for assistance in dealing with an ancient order of assassins. Lara organizes a sit-down between Hannah and the mysterious leader of this assassin's agency.

The next morning, I awoke with a naked female sleeping beside me.

That, in and of itself, wasn’t unusual. There have been hundreds of mornings where I’ve woken up with a naked female sleeping in my bed, however, something about this particular instance felt different. It took a few seconds for me to distinguish what was so distinctive about this specific female.

Oh, Hell’s Bells. I promised to protect this one.

It was very rare for me to promise to protect a mortal, however, once the promise is made, it’s a vow that must be taken seriously. The last time I had done that was during the reign of Olaf Tryggvason. That story had a very wretched and miserable ending. I was hoping that my promise to protect Kelsey didn’t end the same way.

Why do I get emotionally attached to mortals? Even under ideal conditions, they only live a handful of decades. Developing an emotional bond with them inevitably means that I’ll get to be miserable as I watch them perish.

I sat up and swung my feet out onto the floor, however, Kelsey remained sleeping. Good. The longer she slept, the more time I had to ponder what I’d gotten myself into and try to formulate my next move. I walked around my bedroom and began to get dressed as I considered my options.

And then, the phone rang. I was relieved to discover that it was Lara returning my call.

 

“Hannah darling,” Lara’s voice purred into my ear, “I apologize profusely for the delay in returning your call, however there has been a great deal of chaos in the Raith household of late, and as the eldest of Lord Raith’s children, the responsibility for restoring order fell upon my shoulders.”

“Chaos?” I said, “Do you need any help sorting it out?”

“You are very kind to offer,” Lara’s captivating voice replied, “however, I have matters well in hand. And I believe you told Addison that you had a matter with which you needed some assistance.”

“I did,” I replied, “It involves the Ordo sicariorum. I assume you know who they are.”

There was an uncomfortable pause before Lara replied, then she said, “I do. They are mercenaries. They tend to be very skilled at their work, however, I would not recommend employing them. Their organization has multiple factions, making them unpredictable. On occasion, they’ve been known to complete a mission for their clients, and then murder their clients as well.”

“Oh,” I said. And then there was another long, uncomfortable pause, before I added, “I wasn’t planning on hiring them.”

“I am quite pleased to hear it.”

“I killed three of their assassins yesterday, and now I’ve given sanctuary to one of their intended victims.”

Another pause, followed by a response of, “I see. Hannah Dear, is there a compelling reason for why you wish to bring so much danger and complication into your life?”

I sighed noisily and tried to formulate a response. I honestly didn’t understand why I stepped in and saved Kelsey from the Ordo sicariorum myself. If I didn’t understand the motive behind my actions, how was I going to explain my motives to Lara?

“Their intended victim was a teenage girl,” I finally responded, “They came to Chicago to kill an innocent teenager. They came into my city to kill an innocent teenager girl. That was just unacceptable. They can’t come into my city and do things like that!”

“Your city, I see,” Lara said, with a tone that indicated she didn’t understand my motivations at all, “And when exactly did you become the designated savior of teenage females in the city of Chicago?”

I sighed much more resonantly this time and replied, “It was a spur of the moment decision. She called out for help and I felt a strong urge to protect her. It was like I was Batman, and some thugs showed up in Gotham City and tried to kill one of my people.”

“I’m sorry, Batman? Gotham City?”

Sometimes Lara doesn’t get pop culture references. White Court vampires tend to see humans as creatures to prey upon, not creatures that make great literature or great movies.

“Look, forget about Batman,” I said, “I made a decision to protect this girl. I refuse to let the Ordo sicariorum kill her. The reasons aren’t important. What is important, is they’re almost certainly going to keep sending hired guns into Chicago, and I need to come up with a plan for how to deal with that.”

Lara wasn’t really the sentimental type. She was far more practical and pragmatic than sentimental. Knowing that, I probably shouldn’t have been surprised at the initial advice that she tried to impart unto me.

 

“I see,” Lara said in her sweet and soothing tone, “I suppose we could kill the girl ourselves and deposit her body somewhere along Burnham Harbor. Once the Ordo sicariorum realizes that she’s dead, they would lose interest in the city of Chicago, and they wouldn’t be a problem for you anymore.”

 

This time I stifled my sigh and stared at the phone for a few seconds before replying, “I need to come up with a plan that doesn’t involve her ending up dead.”

“Very well,” Lara conceded, “You are not making this easy, Dear Hannah, however, I shall devise a plan that will allow us to deal with the problem of neutralizing the threat of the Ordo sicariorum without your teenage girl ending up dead in the process.”

“Thanks, Lara,” I said, looking around as sounds in my bedroom indicating Kelsey had woken up and was crawling out of bed.

“I shall need some time to arrange matters,” Lara said, “In approximately four hours, I should have some news to report. Keep your teenage girl in a safe place until then. I’ll call you as soon as I have a plan.”

“What sort of plan?” I asked, “Obviously I don’t need all the details just yet, but could you at least give me an idea? Broad strokes?”

“Broad strokes?” Lara said, “We want to get the leaders of the Ordo sicariorum to lose interest in killing your precious teenage girl. I have the beginnings of an idea of how that might be done, however, it will take time to bring this idea to maturity.”

“What?” I asked, “Isn’t there a way we can kill them all off?”

I had a throbbing passion inside of me, urging me towards more acts of heroism. I wanted to fight evil and crush supernatural threats. I don’t know why I felt that way, but I did. 

“You wish to do battle with an army of supernatural assassins?” Lara asked, sounding mildly amused, “And do you have an army of supernatural warriors to ride into battle with you?”

“Um,” I replied, feeling somewhat off balance.

“Let me attempt to find a less self-destructive solution, Darling,” Lara suggested, “Afterwards, if you are still feeling suicidal, you can go to war with the Ordo sicariorum.”

“Um, okay,” I replied numbly. I was centuries older than Lara. I hated allowing her to take the lead and make the important decisions on this, however she was more practical and pragmatic than I was.

“I shall call you back in four hours with the best news I can manage,” Lara assured me, and then she hung up.

“Who was that?” Kelsey asked approximately two seconds after Lara disconnected from the call.

I had hoped that Kelsey would have slept for a little while longer. I wasn’t really in control of the situation and I would have preferred that she not wake until I had a better handle on things.

“That was Lara,” I replied, trying not to stare too intently at her young, lithe, naked body, “She’s sort of an expert on paranormal threats, so I’m petitioning her for advice on how to deal with the assholes who are chasing after you.”

“You need to go to somebody else for advice on paranormal threats?” Kelsey asked, “After the way you rescued me from those harpies, I thought you were Chicago’s resident expert on paranormal threats.”

I shook my head in negation. “Lara has spent the past two-hundred years dealing extensively with vampires, wizards, warlock, faeries and the like. I’ve spent the past two-hundred years mostly dealing with humans. Her practical experience means she’s better equipped than I am at this point.”

“Two-hundred years?” Kelsey asked, “Just how old is Lara? Come to think of it, how old are you?”

“Kelsey,” I said admonishingly, “don’t you know any better than that? It’s bad manners to ask a woman her age!”

Kelsey crossed her arms underneath her chest and gave me a pouting look. The way she crossed her arms lifted her breasts and made them look more delicious and inviting. That plus her flat, toned abs and the shamelessly visible pubic lips made it difficult for me to concentrate on the threat of supernatural assassins.

I told Kelsey that I was going to get dressed, and I encouraged her to do the same. It would make it easier for me to think if we were removed all the nudity from the equation.

Getting dressed should have been one of the easier tasks of my day, however I soon discovered a great deal of difficulty when I attempted to put my clothes on.

“Hells bells,” I exclaimed, and threw my pants across the room.

Much to my displeasure, I soon discovered I couldn’t fit into any of my pants. None of my shirts or bras fit correctly either. It was like somebody had cast a spell on all my clothes to shrink them to a smaller size.

Such a thing was possible, only what would be the point? A spell like that wasn’t an attack. It was more like a prank.

“What’s wrong?” Kelsey asked, her left eyebrow raised in a quizzical expression. I had tossed several items of clothing across the room and had been staring at them bitterly. I probably looked like a crazy woman.

“These clothes don’t fit anymore,” I growled angrily, snatching up a bra and pair of blue jeans off the floor, “Some lowlife has tampered with my clothes! Somebody shrank them!!”

I’d seen pixies do something like this to someone’s clothes once, however, that was over three-hundred years ago, and on another continent. It had been decades since the last time I’d run across any pixies, and I was certain that I hadn’t done anything to piss any of them off. So, who was doing this to me?

“Seriously? Somebody broke into your house and made alterations to your clothes while we were both sleeping?”

“There are ways it can be done,” I replied, “very quietly and very discretely. But who would want to do this to me? I’ve been keeping a low profile! I mean, except for my church, but people like my church! I haven’t done anything with my church that would offend anybody! So, why this?”

I waved my now, unwearable clothes around like an accusation, and tried to recall anybody that I could have angered in the past sixty years or so. No names came to mind.

“Are you sure somebody shrank your clothes?” Kelsey asked, and before I could formulate a response, she added, “I’ve only known you a few hours, and I think that you’ve grown taller since I first met you. I don’t think your clothes got smaller. I think you’ve gotten bigger.”

I wanted to argue with Kelsey, however, I got a cloth tape-measure instead and I had Kelsey assist me in taking some measurements. Sure enough, she was right. I’d grown several inches larger while I was sleeping.

 

Kelsey measured my height, my breast size, my waist, my hips, my inseam and even my feet. Everything had gotten bigger, no wonder my clothes didn’t fit.

 

“Has this ever happened before?” Kelsey asked.

 

“First time,” I replied, “and hopefully the last. I’m going to have to buy all new clothes. This is going to be expensive.”

“What are you going to do?”

“First thing,” I replied, “I need new clothes. I’m gonna need help for that, as I can’t walk out of the house naked, and I can’t wear the clothes that are currently in the house.”

That wasn’t entirely true. However, the only clothes that I had at that moment that I could wear were socks, leggings and unitards. And I wasn’t leaving the house dressed up in socks and skintight spandex.

“Want me to run out to the store and buy you some clothes?” Kelsey asked. I appreciated the offer, but that wasn’t going to work.

“You’re still being hunted,” I replied, “You set foot outside that door, there’s a chance the Ordo sicariorum will show up and try to kill you again. No, for this problem, I need to call on somebody else for assistance.”

______

Naturally, I recruited Katherine to help. I gave her my new sizes over the phone. I now had a twenty-three-inch waist, thirty-five-inch boobs and thirty-five-inch hips. My feet now measured in at seven inches from heel to toe and my inseam was thirty-two inches.

Katherine had no enemies, and nobody was hunting her. She also had excellent taste in clothes, so I trusted her not to buy anything hideous, impractical or tacky.

“She won’t think that it’s strange that you grew to six feet tall overnight?” Kelsey asked.

“Katherine is used to living in a world where strange things happen,” I explained, “She’s seen shit like this before.”

“Things like what?” Kelsey demanded.

I rolled my eyes and I tried to recall some of the most notable things that both Katherine and I had encountered since I came to Chicago.

“Well, things like a pack of werewolves in the city that has laid claim to territory around the University of Chicago. And about two years ago, there was an actual troll living underneath the Lake Shore Drive bridge. And on the Southside of Chicago is a parking space that’s cursed. If you park there, best case scenario, your car will disappear and never be seen again. The locals avoid it like the plague. Should I go on or is that enough?”

“Seriously? Werewolves? She’s actually seen them?” Did she get any photos?”

“The werewolves are real,” I replied, “but it’s not like a petting zoo. They don’t come up to you and let you take their picture. They’re quick and stealthy, but if you’re alert and observant you can sometimes catch a glimpse of them.”

Kelsey was absolutely fascinated with the paranormal and continued to pepper me with questions about werewolves, trolls, curses, vampires, wizards, warlocks and magic. I’m guessing that Memphis didn’t have much of a paranormal community. From the way she was talking, I was the first person she’d ever met who knew anything about this stuff.

She was like a little kid with a new and complicated toy. She wanted to know everything. I ended up telling her all about the Red Court Vampires, Black Court Vampires, White Court Vampires, Jade Court Vampires, the White Council of Wizards and the unfortunate warlocks who sometimes fell afoul of them.

I was just beginning to explain how most groups of paranormal beings cannot get along with most other groups of paranormal beings, when Katherine finally arrived.

“Katherine,” I exclaimed, “Thank you!”

Kelsey had seemed like an adult when she was naked and doing deliciously wonderful things to me in bed, however, her youthful curiosity and eager insistence on asking me about everything made her seem like a small, inquisitive child, and I really do not enjoy dealing with children.

“Katherine, this is Kelsey,” I said, gesturing to the insatiably curious teenager, “Kelsey, this is Katherine.”

I had hoped to get Katherine and Kelsey chatting so I could get dressed in peace. I had grown weary of Kelsey’s endless questions and hoped that Katherine would engage with Kelsey and get me out of the line of fire. 

My hopes crashed and burned almost immediately after liftoff.

Ignoring Kelsey, Katherine looked me over and gave me a look of rapt fascination. “Oh my God,” Katherine exclaimed, “You really did grow taller! What are you now, five foot, eleven?”

“Six foot,” I responded. I looked down at Katherine and felt the extra height. When I first met Katherine, she was maybe half an inch taller than me. Now I was looking down at her, she was wearing heels and I wasn’t even wearing shoes. I estimated that I was about six inches taller than her now.

“What did you do?” Katherine asked, “Piss off a leprechaun?”

“What?” No!” I exclaimed, “I haven’t pissed off anybody! And there’s never been any leprechaun sightings in the city of Chicago! I don’t think they’ve ever been seen anywhere in the United States!”

“And what sort of curse is it to make somebody taller?” Kelsey inquired, “I like it. She looks kind of like an amazon.”

“More like a valkyrie,” Katherine opined, “With that blonde hair and blue eyes, she definitely looks more like a valkyrie than an amazon.”

 

“Or A warrior-angel,” I said softly.

I now had an excellent idea of what caused me to grow six inches taller overnight and it had nothing to do with leprechauns.

To a certain extent, gods rely on mortals to believe in us, however, what they believe about us can influence our abilities, behaviors and physical appearance. Back when the Persians and the Greeks were the superpowers of the mortal world, it was all so organized. Back then the mortals had priests and priestesses who pointed the mortals in the right direction and made certain that believers understood our identities.

Now, I had mortals who saw me as some sort of heroic figure who was here in Chicago to protect then, or as Kelsey had put it, a warrior-angel.

And if I was going to be heroic, why not make me six feet tall?

“I’ve got to get dressed,” I said abruptly, “There’s hot coffee and orange juice in the kitchen. You two help yourselves, and I’ll be back in just a few minutes.”

I went through the bags of clothing and was pleased to see that Katherine had purchased a nice variety of clothing in my new sizes. There was formal clothing, informal clothing and workout clothing. Everything looked tasteful and presentable.

I ended up wearing the pale-grey, double breasted, tweed pant suit. I accessorized it was matching, pale-grey flats and then checking my look in the mirror.

Women in tweed pant suits don’t usually look intimidating, but with my extra height, I did look somewhat like a valkyrie. I was somewhat taken aback by my new look. I didn’t just look tall, I also looked bold, fearless and self-confident.

“I am the guardian of this city,” I told my reflection assertively. My reflection didn’t disagree. Mirror reflections rarely contradicted their flesh and blood counterparts; however, I still felt a small degree of satisfaction that mine failed to dispute my words.

 

_____________

When I made my reappearance in the dining room, Kelsey and Katherine were deep in conversation. They immediately went silent when they saw me enter. Katherine held up a bastard sword where it was clearly visible.

I recognized it immediately. It was the same bastard sword that that bird-lady had used to stab me through the chest.

“So, Hannah,” Katherine said in an accusatory tone, “Kelsey tells me that some harpies tried to kill you yesterday. When were you planning on tell me about this?”

“Hey,” I snapped at her, “I called you almost immediately after it happened. It’s not my fault that you didn’t answer your phone!”

“So, I didn’t answer my phone yesterday,” Katherine countered, “but what about today? When I answered the phone today, did you tell me that an ancient group of paranormal assassins was hell-bent on killing you?”

“Okay, first of all,” I retorted, “the ordo sicariorum isn’t out to kill me, they’re out to kill Kelsey.”

“They were out to kill Kelsey,” Katherine replied, “but now that you’ve killed three of their assassins, I’m pretty sure that they’re out to kill both of you now.”

I placed my hands out in front of me, creating an artificial barrier between Katherine and I and said, “No, they’re not! They have no idea who killed their assassins! There were no witnesses around when I hacked those creatures to death! I can think of at least a half-a-dozen beings in Chicago with the skills to do what I did!”

“It’s just a matter of time,” Katherine said direly, “Groups like the ordo sicariorum always seem to have a way of finding these things out.”

“Wait, they do?” 

“Kelsey, this place is warded. And there were no witnesses. We should be safe here.”

“And what happens if you’re not?” Katherine asked, “What happens if they still manage to track you down?”  
_____________

 

I told Katherine that I had a plan, but I didn’t tell her what it was. She disapproves of the entire Raith household, and she’d have a cow if she knew I was allowing Lara Raith to help me plan my next move. She doesn’t even want me associating with Lara Raith. If she knew I was allowing her to come up with a plan to deal with the ordo sicariorum, she’d throw a conniption fit.

Lara told me to meet her in person at her family’s home just north of town. She was unwilling to discuss her plan over the phone, so I left Kelsey at my home in Logan Square, retrieved my car and headed north to see Lara.

Lara’s family home isn’t anything like mine. My home in the Logan Square section of Chicago is a nice, clean, well-lit place where a small number of people could live comfortably. Lara’s home is a massive estate, where two-hundred or more aristocrats could live a life of ostentatious wealth and indulgence.

Typically when I visited the Raith Estate, household servants would send their apologies and explain that Lara wasn’t immediately available to see me. She’d done this to me so many times, I’d gotten to know a dozen of her servants by name.

This time, Lara made her way out onto the grounds before I was even at the main entrance of her family home. I raised an eyebrow at that. It was unlike her to be so prompt in greeting me.

“Good afternoon, inamorata,” Lara greeted me and then she sauntered over, her hips rolling gracefully as she covered the distance between us.

“Good afternoon, my sexy vampire,” and I looked my girlfriend up and down. Normally Lara dressed in a black minidress or an elegant evening gown, however, this afternoon, she had gone for formal. This time she was wearing a silk business suit. It looked far more expensive than the suit I was wearing, and it was professionally tailored to accentuate her slender waist and her impressive breasts.

“Did you grow taller since the last time we met?” Lara inquired as she grew closer and the look in her eyes went from self-confident and seductive to confused.

“It’s a metamorphosis thing,” I explained, “I’ve become a warrior-angel.”

“I’m sorry, Hannah, you’ve become a what?”

“It’s complicated,” I said, “and I’m still working out all the details myself, but yeah, I’ve grown about six inches since the last time you saw me.”

“And this metamorphosis,” Lara asked, looking at me with intensely inquisitive eyes, “has it had any debilitating side-effects?”

I gave her question some serious consideration. Honestly, my desire to be some sort of heroic guardian of the people of Chicago might be seen by some people as a debilitating side-effect. I had never wanted to protect the people of Chicago before. It was only in the past couple of days that that desire came up, just shortly before I grew wings and became six inches taller.

“Nope,” I said, “no negative side-effects. The only changes so far are positive ones.”

Okay, that wasn’t so much a lie, as a somewhat biased opinion.

I was getting some sort of passionate, tingly thrill from being heroic and doing battle with the forces of evil. It was more dangerous than the quiet lifestyle that I usually embraced, however, there was something of a delicious and intense emotional rush that came with it. Despite the extra danger that came with it, I decided that I liked being the Guardian of Chicago.

“Very good,” Lara said, seemingly satisfied with my answer, “are you ready to hear my ideas on how to overcome your current difficulties with the ordo sicariorum?”

Lara was smart, capable and self-confident. I was loathed to admit it, but she was better at making important decisions than I was.

“That’s why I’m here,” I responded, “Tell me what your plan is. If I didn’t value your opinion, I wouldn’t have asked for your help in the first place.”

Lara’s tone became even more soothing than before and she said, “My family already had contacts in the ordo sicariorum, so I reached out to one of them. It turns out that the teenage female you’re protecting is something of a celebrity, and the leader of their organization requested to speak to me directly. He requested that I share any information that I have with him.”

“Lara, you didn’t,” I exclaimed, ”Are you trying to get me killed?”

Lara shook her head in a way that made soft waves of long blue-black hair sway briefly across her face in a way that looked stylish and feminine.

“Hannah darling,” she said softly, “I have invested a great deal of time and planning, trying to make you stronger and more resilient. Why would I make such a significant investment in you, only to kill you off now?”

I didn’t have any answer to that, and I only shrugged in response.

“There was very little that I could tell him,” Lara explained, “You knew far more about the situation than I did. However, it seems that he has something that you want. You have something that he wants. Therefore, I arranged for a meeting between the two of you. He has sworn an oath that while he is under my roof, no harm will come to you.”

“What? He’s here?”

“He is, inamorata, however, he will not harm you. He has given his word. There exists a truce for as long as he is here.”

_____________

Theodore Rochau was an ordinary-looking man. My first impression of him was that he was a middle-aged Caucasian male of unimpressive height. He was approximately 5’7” and he had a serious receding hairline. His suit and tie looked to be inexpensive. He had a large bodyguard named Brähmer, who totally overshadowed him. Brähmer was about 6’7” and his shoulders were at least three feet wide. He towered over his boss, and almost made Rochau seem insignificant.

My second impression of Rochau was that he seemed to be studying me.

Rochau steepled his fingers and looked at me over the top of them. At first, the man looked bored and passive, but then I got a closer look at his eyes. 

There was a look of vast intellect and probing curiosity in those eyes. My initial impression had been that Rochau was approximately forty to forty-five years of age, however those eyes told a different story. There was a probing intellect in those eyes that seemed to announce a man of great age. This was a man who had seen a great deal of history and learned a great number of practical lessons during that time. I’d known vampires who were over two-hundred years old with eyes like that.

“Ah, Miss Higgins,” Rochau said, with the air of casual indifference, “I am told that you have involved yourself in Kelsey Porter’s affairs.”

Lara had entered the room with me. She was officially there to act as an impartial mediator. Lara was my girlfriend, so she wasn’t truly impartial, but Rochau didn’t need to know that.

“Kelsey Porter is under my protection,” I announced, unnerved by his calm behavior, “I am the guardian of Chicago, and three predators came into my town to hunt her down and kill her. I can’t predators to come into my city and hunt my people.”

The first time I claimed to be the guardian of Chicago, the words sounded foreign and unexpected coming out of my mouth, however, I was getting used to them. I liked the sound of them. Something about calling myself the guardian of Chicago sounded right and fitting. It felt like I was predestined to claim that title.

“Dear me,” Rochau replied without any emotion etched onto his face, “I was unaware that you had any interest in protecting the people of this city.”

“I do,” I said defiantly, “This is my city.”

“Interesting,” Rochau said in an impassive tone of voice, “I’ve had to travel to Chicago a dozen times in the past twenty years. I’ve spent a considerable amount of time in your city, and yet I’ve never heard of you before today.”

His statement caught me off guard. It was a title I had just given myself the day before. I could tell him that of course, however, it would make my claim sound a lot less impressive if I admitted I had only been Chicago’s guardian for less than twenty-four hours.

“I’m not in it for the publicity,” I said, trying for cryptic, rather than explaining myself.

“Indeed, you are not,” Rochau agreed, “You seem to hide from it. There is no record of you before 1995. You have no school records, no military records, no prison record and before 1996, you filed no tax returns. Before Hannah Higgins arrived in Chicago, she's a ghost, she doesn't exist.”

Damn this man! He had never even heard of me before today, and yet he somehow managed to research my past and discover that I had created a false identity for myself and that I had no prior experience at being a protector of the people. I suddenly felt like I was Jeff Gannon in a room full of reporters, and they all realized I was using a false name and had no journalism experience whatsoever.

I looked into Rochau’s eyes again and decided that there was no point in lying. This guy wasn’t fishing for information. He already had all the information he wanted. Although I was at my wit’s end trying to figure out how he found out so much about me so quickly.

“Mister Rochau, perhaps you should tell Miss Higgins what you hope to gain from this meeting,” Lara suggested.

I was grateful for Lara’s intercession. Rochau’s ability to learn so much about me so quickly had left me feeling numb and paralyzed. How did he do that anyway? Did he have an entire team of investigators working for him?

“Excellent idea,” Rochau replied, suddenly smiling brightly, “I would like for Kelsey Porter to become an agent in my employ. As the young lady is currently under the protection of Miss Higgins, I am certain that she could arrange a meeting.”

“Wait, what?” I asked, “You want Kelsey to be one of your assassins?” 

“Nothing so nefarious as that,” Rochau replied calmly, “Miss Porter has certain paranormal abilities. She has used them in the past to help the Memphis Police Department. I would like her to use those abilities to help me.”

Kelsey had paranormal abilities? Kelsey had never mentioned that to me. She had spent the night in my home and never once mentioned any sort of supernatural skills or talents. 

The shock must have shown on my face, as Rochau’s next words were, “Ah, she never told you.”

“What sort of abilities does she have?” I finally asked, when I found my voice again.

“Our young Miss Porter is an exceptional tracker. According to my sources, she doesn’t need hair or blood or fingernail clippings to track her targets. No one has ever seen anything like it before. With such phenomenal abilities, it is only a matter of time before someone snaps her up. It is my intention to place her in my employ before anyone else does.”

“So, if you wanted to hire her, why did you send those assassins after her?”

“Ah, Pallas and her sisters were never assassins,” Rochau said, “They were a retrieval squad. We’ve used them in the past to pick up people that we wished to speak with.”

“All they were supposed to do was pick Kelsey up? They seemed awfully hostile to me.”

“They had very poor social skills,” Rochau conceded.

“One of them stuck a sword in me,” I added.

“And they were prone to fits of ill temper.”

“If all you wanted was to offer Kelsey a job, why didn’t you send a normal human to meet up with Kelsey? One that doesn’t stick swords in people?”

“Pallas and her sisters had a talent for retrieving people. They never quit until the job was completed, and they never asked for much in the way of financial compensation. In their own way, they were quite trustworthy.”

“Trustworthy?“ I spat, “One of them stabbed me in the back and perforated one of my lungs!”

“An injury from which you appear to have recovered from admirably,” Rochau responded with annoying calm, “and, obsessing over Pallas and her sisters is hardly productive, not when there are far more relevant topics for us to be discussing.”

I was outraged at the cavalier way Rochau reacted to the news that one of his henchmen had stabbed me, but when I glanced over at Lara, her face was equally composed and she added, “This isn't a productive area of discussion.”

Lara wanted to help me, while still pretending to be impartial. I took the hint and backed off the subject of the wicked bird-women who had tried to kill me.

“Quite right,” I said, trying to be cooperate with Lara’s intentions, “What shall we talk about then?”

“Let us talk about Kelsey Porter,” Rochau suggested coolly.

“Yes,” I agreed, “Let’s talk about her.”

“I want her to come work for me.”

“I don’t think that would be in her best interests.”

“It would be financially beneficial. She would be well compensated for her work. And as you insist on being the girl’s official protector, we would keep you informed about all her assignments, just so that you can be certain that she’s not in any physical danger.”

I was stunned at how smoothly this was going. A few hours earlier I was certain that I was going to have to go to war with an ancient order of assassins. Now, I was in discussions with their leader about Kelsey going to work for them.

And I was thinking it might be a good idea.

I’d have to talk it over with Kelsey of course, however, if she really did have this kickass paranormal tracking ability, somebody would end up hiring her to use it before too long. A resource that valuable wouldn’t go untapped for very long.

“Listen, Rochau,” I said, “I’ll talk to Kelsey, but I’m not going to force her to work for you against her will.”

“Of course not,” Rochau said with that self-possessed smugness of his.

“I mean it,” I insisted, “Kelsey is an innocent, young woman. She’s not a cold, heartless mercenary. Getting her to work for an ancient order of assassins could be a hard-sell. And if she doesn’t want to do it, I’m not going to force her to do it. Nobody is going to force her to do it.”

I was expecting Rochau to erupt into anger or threats, but he just gave me a long, intense look, as if he were studying the lines on my face for future reference. The silence stretched on wearily and became horrifically annoying.

“Miss Raith,” Rochau said when he finally broke his silence, “would you be a dear and wait outside? I would very much like to speak to Miss Higgins alone.” 

Lara gave me a brief look, but I just shrugged.

“I’ll be fine,” I said, “After all, he’s sworn an oath. And Rochau isn’t an oath-breaker.”

My bet on Rochau was that he was about as old as Lara, and the old ones took oaths seriously. I’ve met plenty of ancients who had no problems with arson, murder, rape, necrophilia and even genocide, however, they always drew the line at oath-breaking. That was the one taboo they didn’t want to mess with.

Brähmer was given orders to leave the room as well. I swear, that guy was about as big and bulky as a bulldozer, but he exited the room without making a sound. I didn’t like the idea of somebody that huge moving so silently. It left me with the disturbing idea that he could sneak up on me when my back was turned.  
When it was just the two of us in the room, the silence seemed deafening. I knew there was more to Rochau than met the eye, and his silent gaze seemed even more disturbing when it was just Rochau and I at the table.

“So, Rochau,” I said, breaking the uncomfortable silence, “we’re alone now. What was so sensitive that you couldn’t say it in front of your bodyguard and an impartial arbiter?”

 

Rochau’s piercing eyes gazed at me across the table and he replied, “Before I tell you, I need you to swear upon your power that you will not share this information with anyone.”

“Seriously?” I exclaimed, “Not even Kelsey?”

“Not even her,” Rochau replied dryly, “Information is power, and the wrong sort of information in the wrong ear can destroy armies. I will not share, unless I can be certain that you can be trusted to be discrete.”

I hated this bit. In some ways, oaths bound gods even more than they bound mortals. Gods are not so much beings of flesh and blood than they are beings of magic and belief. Once a god gives their word, the same forces that give us form and shape and power, also forces us to abide by our word. It’s one of the most frustrating things about godhood.

“I swear upon my power,” I said grudgingly, “I will not share this information with anyone, not unless I get your approval beforehand.”

Rochau considered my words for a few seconds and then replied, “Very well. That seems acceptable.”

 

“I am not the heartless predator that you seem to believe me to be,” Rochau said, “Much of what my organization does, we do as part of a much larger plan that you would find appealing. Since I have taken control of the order, we have consistently taken contracts against the more dangerous and disruptive members of society, warlocks, necromancers, vampires and other insidious evils. I think that most of the work that we do would prove to be quite satisfying to your personal sense of right and wrong."

“Seriously?” I said, “That’s your big secret? For that, you had to send Lara and the big guy out of the room?”

“Apparently, you do not appreciate the gravity of what I have just told you,” Rochau said patiently, “I have a certain reputation to uphold. I have assassins and mercenaries who believe me to be ruthless and cold-hearted. If it were to be known that I have certain altruistic motives, they would think me weak, and would challenge me for leadership.”

I took a few seconds to think it over and realized that he was probably right. Quite often power and stability were more about perception than it was about guns or brute force. If people perceived a nation as being weak, the risks of them being invaded went way up. If people perceived a nation as being overwhelmingly-powerful, it would scare away potential predators, and they’d never have to worry about defending their borders.

“Okay, that makes sense,” I admitted, “still, a master-assassin with altruistic motives? That sounds far-fetched.”

“I’m sure that it does, however, it is the truth.”

“And, of course, you just expect me to take your word for that.”

“You want some assurance of my sincerity?”

“Very much so.”

 

Rochau paused, seemed to consider his words carefully and then responded, “A few years back, there was a serial killer in Chicago. The media had taken to calling him the Lincoln Park Predator. Do you recall?”

“Of course,” I responded, “It was a big deal. He mostly targeted kids. Parents all over Chicago were scared shitless that one of their kids could be his next victim.”

Rochau nodded in agreement and continued.

“My people were hired very early on to find and dispatch this Lincoln Park Predator. My people had no difficulty dispatching him. Finding him was the only difficult part. If we had Kelsey working for us, we could have stopped him before he murdered his last six victims.”

“Now, hold on,” I snapped defensively, “Even if- “

But Rochau cut me off and continued, “It turns out that the Lincoln Park Predator was a Panikmachen. Are you familiar with these creatures?”

I grunted and replied, “Sure. They’re phobophages. They feed off fear. Although they’re more commonly found in Europe than they are over here.”

“Well, this particular panikmachen was living in a motel room on the West side of Chicago,” Rochau offered, “and according to clues he left behind, he was part of a much larger organization. There is an army of panikmachen living here in the United States, all working together to sow fear and discord across the nation.”

“What?” I exclaimed.

“I said that there is an army- “

I interrupted him in mid-sentence and insistently yelled, “Panikmachen are solitary creatures! They live underneath bridges or in the sewers or in spooky condemned buildings! They always work alone! They never work in large organized groups!”

“Someone has inspired them to change their ways,” Rochau said, “It would appear that they now have a leader.”

“Who?” I asked, suddenly very emotionally invested in seeing the panikmachen and their leader beaten to death, chopped into small chunks and then set on fire.

“That is an excellent question,” Rochau admitted, “however, we have yet to learn the identity of this mysterious being. Of course, if we had Kelsey working for us, finding villains like him would be far easier. Her ability at finding people is really quite extraordinary.”

“You’ve made your point,” I said gruffly, “I’m interested in helping. I’ll talk to Kelsey and explain how important this is.”

“Your cooperation is appreciated,” Rochau said, his face as impassive as ever. He had just achieved a victory of sorts, and yet there wasn’t even the hint of a smile on his face.

“I’ll call you after I’ve spoken to Kelsey,” I said, “I should have an answer for you before the end of the day. Is that acceptable?”

“Quite acceptable,” he agreed, “However, before you go, you should know that you owe the ordo sicariorum twenty-five thousand dollars.”

I froze.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

My outburst failed to get an emotional reaction from him. He just sat there calmly and patiently answered my question.

“When you killed Pallas and her sisters, you left their bodies out in a public parking lot where anyone could find them. The mortal authorities took possession of their bodies and sent them off to the morgue. My people had to expend a considerable amount of time and money, bribing city officials to turn the bodies over to us and to falsify official records in order to cover up the truth about the corpses that you left behind.”

“Yeah, but-” I began to protest.

“Miss Higgins, we live in cities built by humans,” Rochau said, interrupting me, “however, we must always be discrete around humans. Leaving behind physical evidence of the paranormal is both reckless and irresponsible. I’ll be expecting better from you in the future.”

Something about his words or his tone of voice made me feel like a naughty schoolgirl. I was a centuries old immortal, however, he made me feel like a little girl who got caught sneaking out of the house after dark. How the hell did he do that?

In the end I did my penance and wrote him a check for twenty-five thousand dollars. He had me make the check payable to the M. Solomon Casket Company. I’m guessing that the M. Solomon Casket Company is some sort of front company that Rochau uses to launder money.

_____________

I had some doubts about the deal that I made with Rochau, but things could have turned out much worse. Kelsey was still alive, and I was still her protector. And Rochau seemed to be perfectly happy with things remaining that way. I was relatively pleased with the day’s negotiations.

“And having concluded your negotiations, you’re just going to leave so abruptly?” Lara asked warmly as I stood in her private office and attempted to say goodbye.

“Now that I’ve had my discussion with Rochau, I need to have a discussion with Kelsey,” I replied, “More talks, more negotiations, more plans. I’ve kinda got a full plate today.”

“And you have no time to spare for me?” Lara asked softly, “I set up this meeting with Rochau as a favor to you, and you have yet to even say a word of thanks.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, “These past twenty-four hours have been pretty crazy. Anyway, thanks for your help. It’s much appreciated.”

Lara gave me a look that was seductive and pouty. “Hannah,” she said and there was something in her voice that sang with quiet, seductive power, “It would be rude of you to leave so soon.”

I loved the sound of Lara’s voice, however it sounded especially sweet and soothing at that moment, and her full, kissable lips demanded my undivided attention. She continued to speak, however, I somehow lost track of the words coming out of her mouth, and before I knew it my lips were pressed urgently against hers.

I don’t remember making a conscious decision to kiss Lara, but suddenly she was moaning into my mouth as we fervidly kissed, and our tongues merged together. As we continued to kiss, Lara’s hands moved all over my body, my shoulders, the small of my back, my waist, and then they cupped and fondled my buttocks.

I don’t remember taking off any of my clothes, however, at some point I realized that most of my clothes were on the floor and I was wearing nothing but a pair of hip-hugger panties. 

I supposed it was possible that Lara was manipulating me, using her vampire powers to inflame my libido and impel me into ignoring my responsibilities. Yeah, it was possible, however, at the time the sensation of Lara’s flesh underneath my fingertips was so delicious and the tingling feeling of her tongue probing my mouth was so exquisite that I really didn’t care.


	4. Leah and Francisco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannah and Kelsey travel to Florida in an attempt to track down a serial-killer.

I wrapped my arms around Lara and kissed her deeply. I’ve had a lot of lovers over the centuries, and not all of them knew how to kiss. Mortal or immortal, some females just never acquire the knack. But Lara knew how to kiss.

Lara probed my mouth with her tongue and we both made soft moaning sounds as my body seemed to fill with electric sparks of sexual excitement. I’ve been warned hundreds of times about the dangers of having sex with a White Court vampire, but there’s a potent dark sexual thrill that dwarfs all the risks. When Lara’s hands were touching me, and her body pressed against mine, I was filled with more bliss than a human experiencing opium dreams.

My heart soared, and my loins throbbed as Lara knelt gracefully and peeled my panties from my hips and exposed the smooth flesh of my vulva. Lara looked up and gave me a seductive, smoldering look before she touched her tongue to the folds of my swollen labia.

At the mere touch of her tongue, a frisson of pleasure shuddered through me. I stood there panting, my eyes half-open, my heart racing and bursts of lust running through my body.

“Aahhhh,” I gasped with mindless, wanton delight. You might think that after centuries of carnal experiences an immortal would get blasé about sex, however, that’s not always the case. If you’re with the right partner, sex can seem new and exciting no matter how many orgasms you’ve experienced in your lifetime. And Lara was the right partner for me. She transformed sex into something mysterious, forbidden and exciting all over again. 

Lara’s head remained between my thighs and her tongue did delicious things to the swollen folds of my pubic lips, sending waves of ecstasy pleasure out, permeating my entire body. My hips swayed, and I continued to gasp as pleasure built up inside of me.

Like a wave that builds in strength over a thousand miles of ocean, so build the strength of the orgasm deep within my loins. I made uncontrollable gyrations with my hips and inarticulate sounds deep within my throat as I felt libidinous spasms deep inside of me.  
Lara would occasionally look up at me and favor me with an amused smile, possibly she was entertained by my squirming or my gasping explosions of lusty, inarticulate euphoria. 

"Oh... oh... Oh, Lara... Oh, Aghhhhhh! Oooooohh!”

When I reached the climax, the throbbing, primal wanton, libidinous joy became so intense, my mind completely shut down. I was no longer a thinking, intelligent creature. I was a collection of happy nerve-endings, all flooded with an overabundance of carnal pleasure. I just closed my eyes, moaned and surrendered to the wealth of pleasurable sensations.

 

My mind had been swept away by the exquisite things that Lara had down to my body. When I was able to think once again, I was naked, panting and lying on the floor, barely able to move.

 

“Sweet, adorable, Hannah,” Lara said as she smiled beatifically at my sweat-drenched, panting body, “No matter what alliances you make with Rochau, there are things I can do for you that he will never be able to.”

I continued to pant and made a gesture to indicate I agreed with her. I’m not even sure why she felt the need to remind me. Lara’s kind are superbeings who can cram more erotic bliss into five seconds of foreplay than most humans can manage in five hours of sex. There’s simply no way I could ever forget the amazing things Lara can do for me.

_____________

“Kelsey,” I called out when I got home, “I have good news!”

Part of me was angry at Kelsey for not sharing important information with me. If Kelsey had told me that she had some sort of supernatural tracking ability, I might not have been so worried about her. I might have hypothesized that people in the paranormal community would be far more interested in recruiting her than killing her.

During my absence, Kelsey had made herself at home. She was wearing one of my t-shirts and a pair of my bootcut jeans. In addition to that, she was cuddling with a huge dog I’d never seen before. I wasn’t an expert on dogs, but it looked like an East-European Shepherd to me. Although it was snowy-white from its nose, all the way to the tip of its tail and I’d never seen a pure-white East European Shepherd before.

 

“Where’d the dog come from?” I asked.

“It’s not a dog,” Katherine’s voice replied from somewhere in the kitchen, “It’s a laochra wolf.”

“A what?”

Katherine walked out of the kitchen, trailed by an even larger quadruped. This one was built like the one that Kelsey was cuddling, only this one was pure-black. 

“A laochra wolf,” Katherine repeated, “a wolf that’s been magically bonded to a wizard, witch or magic practitioner of some kind. They’re stronger and more resilient than a regular wolf. They’re also fanatically loyal and they’ll defend the human that they’re bonded to until either the human or the wolf is dead.”

 

At the word “wolf” I felt my emotions churn. I like dogs. Dogs are companionable creatures who will lick your face, nuzzle up against you, play fetch and beg you for treats. Dogs are wonderful creatures. Wolves, on the other hand, are cunning predators, who will stalk you for miles, surround you, cut off any means of escape and then they’ll maul you to death.

I don’t like wolves. Just being near them set me on edge.

“And why are they in my house, Katherine?” I asked, “Before I left, did I give you permission to bring wolves into my home? I’m pretty fucking sure that I didn’t.”

 

Apparently, the black wolf didn’t approve of my tone of voice. As I yelled at Katherine, he bent his ears back, turned his tail up and stared at me intently, with his eyes narrowed. Then a deep, menacing, rumbling growl erupted from the wolf’s chest.

The growling wasn’t just loud; it had a resonating quality that I could feel in my bones. Katherine looked down at the furry quadruped and her face just about went white.

“Teddy! No,” Katherine admonished the wolf as she leaned over and touched the wolf between his shoulder blades, “Friend! Friend!”

 

The wolf seemed to take a few seconds to consider this.

 

He stopped growling, his ears relaxed, and he padded across the floor until he was uncomfortably close, For several seconds he sniffed me. Dogs and wolves make a lot of important decisions based on smell, so I decided to just stand there and try to smell as friendly as possible. If he bit me, things were going to get ugly. 

In the end, the wolf didn’t bite me. When he was finished sniffing me, he ended up licking my hand and padding back to Katherine. Apparently, I had passed some sort of test, and Teddy no longer considered me a threat.

 

And while Teddy sat companionably at Katherine’s feet, Katherine said, “Look, you told me that assassins were out there, hunting down Kelsey. I thought it would be a good idea to have some sort of protection around the house. If assassins burst in here and tried to kill Kelsey, Edith and Teddy would have fought to protect her.”

 

Any assassin dangerous and imposing enough to be recruited into the ordo sicariorum could probably neutralize Katherine’s wolves with very little effort, but I didn’t bother to mention that. If these wolves gave her peace of mind, I was in no rush to take that away from her.

 

Instead, I said, “On the subject of assassins, I have some good news.”

Okay, I paused dramatically to get maximum effect. I waited until Kelsey, Katherine and both wolves had their eyes focused on me and everyone was eager to hear me elaborate on my cryptic comment.

 

“Well?” Kelsey demanded impatiently, “What is it?”

 

“The ordo sicariorum doesn’t want to kill you,” I said, “they never did. They just want to offer you a job.”

“What?” Kelsey and Katherine both demanded simultaneously.

“Those bitches came at me with claws and swords and sharp, stabby things,” Kelsey protested loudly, “That is not how human resource departments go about hiring someone!” 

“You’re right,” I said to Kelsey, “Of course, a key phrase in your argument is human resources. Ordo sicariorum tends to operate outside of human society. They tend to be organized and operated by beings that you wouldn’t likely consider to be human. Their organization is run by changelings, conjurers, ectomancers, wizards and the like. They don’t tend to think and behave like humans do. They’ve got their own rules and societal norms.”

“Why would they want her anyway?” Katherine asked, “Kelsey isn’t an assassin.”

No, she’s not,” I replied, “Kelsey is a tracker.”

“What?”

“Kelsey neglected to mention that she has some really impressive paranormal abilities. She can locate anyone, just by thinking about them. She doesn’t need blood, hair, or any genetic material to find them. She just has to concentrate on that person! Of course, the ordo sicariorum wants to have her on their payroll!”

 

“Kelsey,” Katherine said, turning her attention to my teenage houseguest, “is this true?”

 

“It’s not a big deal,” Kelsey protested, “Most of the women in my family end up with some sort of paranormal ability! Don’t get your panties in a bunch!”  
“Kelsey,” Katherine said admonishingly, “do you have any idea how rare your ability is?”

Kelsey petted the fur on the back of Edith’s neck and made a face. Her whole attitude was far too blasé. I had to remind myself that she was still just a teenager, and teenagers rarely understood how the world worked or where their priorities should be.

“It’s just finding people,” Kelsey protested, “It’s not like I can set people on fire with my mind or turn lead to gold! It’s not like I’m some sort of wizard!”

 

I rolled my eyes and Katherine gesticulated wildly with her hands and said, “Kelsey, I’ve known plenty of wizards in my time, and not one of them could do what you do! You’re a prodigy!”

 

“It’s true,” I told Kelsey, “There are wizards would sacrifice their own children to be able to do what you do. And there are people like Rochau who will pay you a lot of money if you use your abilities to find the people they’re looking for.”

Much to my surprise, Kelsey didn’t seem to be the least bit curious who Rochau was. She didn’t ask about him at all. Instead, she just tilted her head to the side and asked, “How much money?”

Young, inexperienced, unsophisticated, but mercenary. It wasn’t a great combination, but once I knew what buttons I needed to press, I was able to convince Kelsey to work for the ordo sicariorum and use her powers to help them find the targets they were looking for.

_______________

 

We met at McAnally’s Pub. I didn’t want Rochau in my home, and I didn’t feel comfortable bringing Kelsey into the home of a white court vampire, so I decided that we could all meet in a neutral location. McAnally’s was about the most neutral place in the entire city of Chicago.

 

Kelsey was like a little kid on her first visit to Disneyland. I had made the mistake of telling her that Mac’s Pub was a gathering place for the paranormal beings of Chicago, and she stared at all of them with wide-eyed amazement.

 

“Who’s that?” Kelsey asked, gesturing to a woman sitting at the bar.

“That’s Jean,” I replied, “She belongs to a local coven here in Chicago.”

 

“Who’s that?” she asked, gesturing to a woman wandering towards the back of the room.

“That’s Keelin,” I said, “She’s an expatriate. She used to live in the Kingdom of Queen Titania, but she was kicked out, banished.”

“And him?”

“That’s Mac,” I replied, “He’s in charge here, so be nice to him.”

“What is he?” Kelsey asked, “A genie? A leprechaun? A vampire?”

“Mac is inscrutable,” I replied, “I’ve been coming here for years, and as near as I can tell, Mac is nothing more than an honest, hard-working, mild-mannered human.”

“Seriously?” Kelsey asked, “He’s just a normal guy? But all the patrons are freakish, X-Files kinda creatures.”

“Don’t call them freakish,” I admonished Kelsey, “Most of Mac’s patrons are good, trustworthy people. You shouldn’t denigrate them by calling them freaks.”

Kelsey’s brow furrowed, and she seemed to consider this for a few seconds.

“What can I call them, then?” she finally asked.

“You can call them members of Chicago’s paranormal community,” I told her, “And try to be nice to them. These are your people now.”

“What?” she exclaimed, “No, they’re not!”

“Yeah, they kinda are,” I corrected her, “Your ability to track people marks you as paranormal. And you live with me now, in the Logan Square section of Chicago. Therefore, you are now a member of Chicago’s paranormal community.”

“What?” Kelsey exclaimed, her face turning an interesting shade of red. I found it amusing. Kelsey had magical talent, it made her a part of the paranormal community. It was somewhat entertaining to see her try to deny her connection to her people.

Before I could make my reply, a large shadow loomed over our table. I looked up and saw the imposing figure of Brähmer, towering over Kelsey and me.

Brähmer was a massive, hulking creature with a neck as thick as my waist and shoulders as wide as most doorways. He was almost seven feet tall and had beady eyes that were partially obscured under his heavy brow. A deep, growling sound escaped from his throat as he looked down at Kelsey and me. Kelsey responded by letting out a panicky yelp.

“Ah, Kelsey,” I said with a manic cheerfulness that I didn’t feel, “allow me to introduce you to Brähmer. Brähmer is a mountain troll that wandered into the city and was hired by Theodore Rochau to act as his bodyguard.

 

The bulky, imposing-looking man didn’t seem to appreciate my sense of humor. He glared at me with his beady, little eyes and drew back his lips into a snarl.

“Now, now, now, Ms. Higgins” came a familiar voice from somewhere nearby, “Antagonizing my other employees is hardly the most efficacious way of fitting in with my organization.”

 

“Sorry, Rochau,” I said as the dapper man appeared between two customers, “Brähmer here frightened our young Ms. Porter, and I was just trying to lighten the mood.”

 

“He just loomed suddenly,” Kelsey insisted, “like Godzilla suddenly rising up from the ocean without warning and then BOOM, suddenly he’s stomping on cars and tearing down high-tension wires.”

Rochau regarded Kelsey with an enigmatic look and replied, “I assure you Brähmer will not be stomping on any cars or tearing down any electrical wires. His main job is to appear large and intimidating and focus attention away from me.”

“So, he’s camouflage?” Kelsey inquired.

“Something like that,” Rochau said, as he took a seat across from Kelsey, “I have many enemies, however, it’s difficult for them to focus on me if they’re worried about the possibility of Brähmer picking up an SUV with his bare hands and beating them to death with it.”

“He’s an attention-getter,” Kelsey responded.

“Precisely, and the more attention people focus on him, the less attention they focus on me. It’s largely about misdirection.”

“In a crisis, could he beat someone to death with an SUV?”

“My, aren’t you an inquisitive one?” Rochau replied, “Perhaps one day we shall find out.”

Kelsey seemed to have run out of things to say, and Rochau just stared at her like a chess grandmaster, waiting for her to make her next move.

“Perhaps we should discuss what you want Kelsey to do,” I suggested when the silence became too awkward and uncomfortable for me to bear.  
“By all means,” Rochau agreed.

He pulled a black and white photo out of his pocket and said, “The gentleman in this photo is a serial killer. Normally he kills hitchhikers, migrant laborers or runaways, however, he recently graduated to killing FBI agents. I have a client who is very upset about that.”

I studied the photo before passing it to Kelsey. The man in the photo had his back to the camera as he walked through a parking lot. He was slender, well-dressed and had a corporate-style haircut. There were no distinguishing marks or clues to hint at the man’s identity.

“What’s his name?” Kelsey inquired as she proceeded to stare at the photo.

“We’re not certain,” Rochau replied, “He killed two FBI agents in Birmingham, stole a car and disappeared. It seems that he left behind no fingerprints and no one got a good look at his face. It’s as if he stealthily slipped into town, killed the two FBI agents and slipped out of town immediately after the deed was done.”

“Very well organized for a serial killer,” I said.

“Oh, some serial killers are quite well organized,” Rochau informed me.

I waited for Rochau to elaborate on that cryptic remark, however, he remained annoying quiet. I was wondering how many serial killers he had known in his lifetime. 

“What makes you think that he’s a serial killer?” Kelsey asked as she looked at the photo, “Maybe he just had a grudge with those two FBI guys, and this is the first time he’s ever killed anybody.”

“It’s the methodology of the kill,” Rochau replied, “All murderers have their own style, their own unique way of doing things. The murder of those two FBI agents matches up with the methodology of one-hundred-fourteen other murders.”

“One-hundred-fourteen?” Kelsey asked, “How can anybody commit that many murders and not get caught?”

“Not all of them were in Alabama,” Rochau explained, “The murders were committed in six different states, police in one state tend to be focused on their own problems and not what’s going on outside their own jurisdiction, also there’s been a shocking lack of witnesses, fingerprints or other physical evidence to lead the police to the killer.”

“Also, if his targets were usually runaways and migrant workers,” I opined, “I doubt the police were all that motivated to apprehend the killer.”

“Killing federal agents was certainly a game-changer,” Rochau agreed, “If he had stuck with low-hanging fruit, he might have gotten away with his killing spree for another five or six decades.”

A few curious patrons overheard our conversation about the serial killer and wandered closer in an attempt to eavesdrop. Brähmer noticed and glared ominously at them. They quickly retreated back to their own table.

“Our killer is a very transitory induvial,” Rochau divulged to us, “He has left behind victims in Alabama, Florida, Georgia, Louisiana, Mississippi and South Carolina. There is no apparent pattern to his travels, so we’ve been unable to predict where he’ll turn up next.”

“That’s why you want me,” Kelsey offered.

“The FBI will use conventional methods to try to locate him, however, conventional methods are quite unhelpful when all you have is a vague description, no name, no fingerprints and no DNA.”

“But Kelsey can find people just by thinking about them,” I added, sounding overtly proud. I had only known Kelsey a short period of time, however, I was already thinking of her like a daughter or a wife, somebody that shared a powerful bond with me.

I don’t know why I felt such a powerful connection to her. She was only human after all. 

Rochau reached into an inside pocket in his blazer and pulled out a map of the United States. He had folded it in such a way that it only showed the states south of Virginia and east of Texas. He handed Kelsey the map and then handed her a pushpin.

“Can you pinpoint the city where our serial killer is currently residing?” Rochau asked.

Of course we all knew that Kelsey could do it. Kelsey’s ability to find people was the reason that Rochau became interested in Kelsey in the first place. I watched as Kelsey’s eyes became glazed over, she raised the pushpin up and then used it to stab the map.

“Okahumkee, Florida,” I said as I stared at the spot where the pushpin had gone in.

“If you want me to narrow down his location any more than that,” Kelsey said, “I’ll have to go to Okahumkee.”

“Can’t we just get a map of Okahumkee, and have you put a pin in that?”

Kelsey shook her head.

“For more fine detail work, I have to get closer to the target,” she said, “Here in Chicago, I’m just too far away.”

“I’ll make the travel arrangements,” Rochau said. “I have agents in Florida. I’ll tell them that you’re coming and have them pick you up at the airport.”

“I’m going with her,” I insisted, “I’m her protector.”

“But, of course,” Rochau agreed, “I’ll make travel arrangements for two.”

Kelsey and Rochau haggled over her fee. For an inexperienced teenager, Kelsey was surprisingly mercenary when it came to money. Eventually, they agreed upon a fee structure and the travel arrangements were made for us to go to Florida.

____________________

There were no airports in Okahumkee, so Kelsey and I got on a flight from Chicago to Bay County. From there, the plan was to meet up with Rochau’s people, and they would drive us to Okahumkee.

 

“Florida,” Kelsey exalted jubilantly as we made our way through the airport, “I’ve always wanted to go to Florida! This is so cool!”

“What’s so great about Florida?” I asked, watching with mild amusement as Kelsey as she bounced with enthusiasm.

“Are you kidding?” she shot back, “They’ve got a million miles of beaches, they’ve got surfing, they’ve got shipwreck diving, they’ve got Disney World, they’ve got Sea World, they’ve got NASCAR!”

I smiled at her youthful enthusiasm. After a certain age many humans become world-weary, humorless and disenchanted with their lives. Kelsey on the other hand was still filled with high spirits and whimsey. 

“Isn’t NASCAR just driving around in circles over and over again?” I asked playfully.

“Yeah,” Kelsey agreed, “but really, really fast, and sometimes a car will flip over! Or they’ll be a high-speed collision and a tire will shoot into the stands like a cannonball!”

I gave her a curious look and then finally said, “Okay, it’s official. You’re weird.”

“Yeah, but at least I embrace my weirdness,” Kelsey proclaimed, “I’m not one of those people who hide from their weirdness and then end up in therapy when they’re forty years old!”

Our banter went back and forth like that for a while until we ran into Rochau’s people. 

“Kelsey Porter?” a woman’s voice inquired shortly after we’d made it outside of the airport lobby.

Kelsey and I both made eye contact with the woman who’d spoken. At first glance I’d assumed that she was a woman in her late teens. She had the slender build and smooth, flawless skin I normally associate with humans in their late teens or early twenties.

Then I noticed her eyes.

Her eyes were cold and intense. I’d seen eyes like that before. Police who’d spent decades dealing with murderers, pimps and rapists had eyes like that. She had the eyes of somebody who had seen too much and was now suspicious of everyone and everything.

My guess was that she was a lot older than her smooth, flawless skin suggested. There are a number of ways to live for decades (or even centuries) and still look like a teenager. Some of the methods involved human sacrifice. Until I knew more about this woman, I didn’t want her getting too close to Kelsey.

“I’m Kelsey Porter’s guardian,” I said stepping between Kelsey and the cold-eyed woman, “Can I help you?”

 

“I’m Leah. Theodore Rochau sent me,” she said, “I’m supposed to drive your bloodhound around until she finds the happy asshole that killed those feds in Alabama. You can tag along if you want, or you can stay here.” 

“Bloodhound?” Kelsey exclaimed, “Did you seriously just call me a bloodhound?”

 

“You track a quarry so the hunters can kill it,” Leah said snappishly, “That makes you a bloodhound. Deal with it.”

 

I didn’t like the way Leah was speaking to Kelsey. Kelsey was just there to do a job. She didn’t need this woman’s bitter attitude grating her the entire time we were in Florida.

“I’m curious, Leah,” I said, getting up in the woman’s face, “Have you ever actually heard of social skills?”

“Social skills?” Leah said dismissively, “You mean that crap where people act all approachable and congenial in some sort of feeble attempt to get strangers to like them?”

Wow, she was bitter.

“That’s not the way I would have described them,” I replied, “but boiled down to their bare essentials, yeah, that’s basically what social skills are.”

The cold intensity in Leah’s eyes got even colder and she retorted, “Most people I meet are dead within an hour of meeting me. Using social skills on new acquaintances seems like a lot of wasted effort.”

“Damn,” Kelsey said, her voice filled with shock and (I think) a strange sort of admiration.

“Okay, but Kelsey and I aren’t going to be dead an hour from now,” I said defensively.

“Ten bucks says you’re wrong,” Leah countered, and then she led us across the parking lot to her car.

I was suddenly strongly motivated to stay alive for at least another hour, and not just because I had a healthy self-preservation instinct. Leah’s attitude was annoying the crap out of me. Being alive in an hour from now would give me something to rub in her face.

According to my watch it was 5:41 PM. I resolved to be alive and all up in Leah’s face at 6:41 PM.

“Francisco already called shotgun,” Leah said as she arrived at her car, “You two sit in the back.”

I stared at the car Leah had indicated as hers. It was a lava-red 1976 Cadillac Eldorado. Even though it was almost 30 years old, it looked brand-new, shiny and polished. It was also a five-thousand-pound, gas-guzzling, 275 horsepower battering ram on wheels. 

“Isn’t this a little ostentatious for your line of work? “I asked, “I thought you’d want something a little more low profile.”

“I like classic cars,” Leah retorted pointedly. She paused for a moment and then added, “Also in my line of work it helps sometimes to have a lot of trunk space. You ever try to stuff a dozen dead bodies into the trunk of a Honda Accord?”

“I’ve never tried to do that,” I replied.

“Neither have I,” Leah said, “because I’m not an idiot. I know there’s no way they’d ever fit.”

I was attempting to formulate a sarcastic comment about car salesmen and the best way to ask them about corpse capacity, when Francisco introduced himself.

While Leah was cantankerous and gruff, Francisco was mellow and easy to get along with. 

“Don’t let her get to you,” Francisco said, “It’s nothing personal. She hates everybody.”

“She doesn’t hate you, does she?” Kelsey asked.

“Are you kidding?” Francisco asked, “Do you know how many times she’s shot me?”

I looked Francisco up and down, looking for any sign of scar tissue from ostensible gunshot wounds and I noticed something odd. When I was looking directly at him, I could tell you exactly what he looked like, however, once I turned away all the details of his appearance would vanish from my memory.

The color of his eyes, the shape of his jaw, distinguishing scars or marks, his height, his build, I couldn’t remember any of these things after I turned away from him. Was he cleanshaven or did he have facial hair? Did he have thick, bushy eyebrows or did he have thin, elegant eyebrows? Did he have a weak chin or a strong, rugged chin? It was like there was some sort of spell that made it impossible to remember his physical appearance.

It occurred to me that this might be deliberate. Being forgettable would be a huge asset in Francisco’s line of work. If I were an assassin, I would want any witnesses who saw me to have difficulty describing my physical appearance.

“The asshole that we’re tracking has already traveled from Alabama to Florida,” Leah interjected impatiently, “He’s probably on the move right now. Are we gonna spend all day listening to Francisco bitch about how badly he’s been abused, or are we gonna catch up with this asshole before his ass ends up on some goddamn Caribbean Island?”

“We should probably go,” Francisco advised, “The longer this takes, the grumpier she’s gonna get.”

“Hey, Bloodhound,” Leah barked once we were all situated in her gas-guzzling tank, “Which way do we go?”

“Head east,” Kelsey advised, so Leah got us onto Interstate-10 and headed east towards Okahumkee.

Rochau hadn’t told us much about the killer that we were tracking, however, we had time to kill as Leah drove, so getting more information about our target seemed to be an obvious way of spending out time together.

“He’s a real nutcase,” Francisco offered, “After he kills his victims, he cuts their hearts out. I mean, who does that?”

“There are a number of spells and mystic rituals that work better with a human heart,” Leah opined from the driver’s seat, “He could be a warlock, or some sort of practitioner.”

“Or he could be some sort of religious nut,” Francisco offered, “Maybe he’s collecting human hearts to offer up to some sort of pagan god.”

I quirked an eyebrow at that. I was a pagan god. Humans used to worship me for centuries, however, none of my followers ever offered me the heart of a murdered human. What would be the point? Why would I even want a human heart?

“Maybe the killer is Aztec,” Kelsey opined, “I’ve read about them. They used to cut the hearts out of people.”

“Dammit,” Leah said, “It could be another Red Court Vampire.”

“Why?” Kelsey asked, “Do they cut people’s hearts out?”

“Not as a rule,” Leah said, “But some of the Red Court vampires date back to the time of the Aztecs. And some of them have trouble moving on. If this is Red Court vampire, he could be ancient. Possibly thousands of years old.”

“Is that bad?” Kelsey asked.

“Vampires tend to get more powerful as they age,” Leah explained, “Killing a vampire that’s thousands of years old is like trying to break a mountain in half. It’s almost impossible.”

“Rochau said that the killing spree began in 1905,” Francisco said, “Based on that, the killer shouldn’t be much more than a hundred years old.”

“What if there are other murders we don’t know about?” Leah countered, “What if the killer immigrated to the United States in 1905, and has a long history of murdering people in other countries before he located here?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Francisco said meekly.

“I fucking hate Red Court vampires,” Leah said, “I’m hoping this asshole turns out to be something else.”

“He can’t be a vanilla human,” Francisco said, “not if he’s been doing this since 1905.”

“Warlocks can’t live that long ,can they?” Kelsey asked.

“Warlocks can live for a long, long time, Kid,” Leah said, “The last warlock I killed was a millionaire who made his fortune during the Atlantic slave trade. By his own accounting he was over three-hundred years old.”

Kelsey looked at me and said, “Seriously? They can live that long?”

“Wizard and warlocks aren’t like ordinary people,” I replied, “They age a lot slower than the plain vanilla humans. They can get even older than three-hundred.”

“Damn,” Kelsey said in an awed whisper.

Kelsey then proceeded to pepper us with a multitude of questions about longevity in the paranormal community, and attempted to ferret out a way that she could live to be three-hundred.

Of course, there are ways that it could be done, but there are always tradeoffs. Some of the more powerful Sidhe can give you longevity and maybe even immortality, but the Sidhe never give anything away for free. There’s always a price. And with the Sidhe, it usually turns out that the price you paid was way too high, and you spend the rest of your life regretting it.  
There are vampires who can give you immortality as well, however, there’s a price for that as well. In essence, you have to give up your humanity and become a vicious, blood-thirsty monster.

In the end, our conversation about immortality got cut short when Kelsey told us to take the next exit off of Interstate-10. Our exit put us on Memorial Road, and Kelsey told us that we were closing fast on our quarry.

“I can feel him,” Kelsey insisted, “He’s not far from here.”

We drove past fast food place, gas stations, hardware stores and restaurants and Kelsey was wide-eyed with anticipation as she insisted we were getting closer and closer.

“How much further?” Leah demanded.

“I don’t know exactly,” Kelsey said as she squirmed in her seat, “I can feel him. You know that sensation you can feel in the air before a huge thunderstorm? It’s kinda like that.”

“Barometric pressure dropping?” Leah asked mockingly.

“I don’t know what you call it,” Kelsey retorted, “but he’s close by! I can feel him!”

Leah grumbled, but she continued to guide her car down Memorial Drive, until Kelsey told her to take a left.

“There! He’s in there!” Kelsey shouted excitedly, her hand slapping against the glass of the window.

“Seriously?” Leah asked.

We took a left onto Valerie Boulevard and then a right into a fairground. There were brightly-colored tents, booths, a massive Ferris wheel and an archlike entryway done up in blue, gold, red and white. Just above the entrance a colorful sign flamboyantly declared we had arrived at the Davis Brothers Traveling Circus of Wonders! 

“I hate the circus. And I fucking hate clowns,” Leah said to no one in particular after she’d parked the car, “If this serial killer turns out to be a clown, I’m gonna kill him twice.”

When we got out of the car, Francisco leaned in close and whispered, “See? I told you she hates everybody.”

I nodded in silent agreement. Leah really did seem to hate everyone. I suppose that was an asset in her line of work. If you’re being paid to kill people, hating the entire human race probably cut down on feelings of guilt and self-loathing.

“I smell caramel,” Kelsey said excitedly, “Let’s follow that smell. I haven’t had anything to eat since we left Chicago.”

“You can eat after you help us find this guy,” Leah responded brusquely, “not before.”

Leah was our ostensible leader and she ended up marching over to the ticket booth and buying tickets for all of us. I vaguely wondered if Rochau would reimburse her for those. If an assassin’s target is inside a circus, wouldn’t that qualify circus tickets as a business expense?

“There’s a lot of people here,” Kelsey complained as we made our way through the crowds, “It’s like a massive wall of human beings attempting to keep me from where I’m going.”

Kelsey took the lead, with me following and Leah and Francisco taking up there rear. I wondered vaguely if our serial killer worked here at the circus, or if he was a customer. Either way, this place had a lot of witnesses milling about. A covert assassination would be almost impossible at this place. I didn’t envy Leah and Francisco. There were lots of children here, and I can guarantee a lot of them would scream like Jamie Lee Curtis if they saw Leah slit somebody’s throat.

The four of us continued forward, passing by circus tents of various sizes. The Mysterious Madame Natasha had a very small tent, just big enough for three or four people. While the Flying Murdocks had a massive tent that could hold more than a hundred people. Large or small, if our serial-killer was inside one of the tents it might be fortuitous. It would allow for fewer witnesses if they were holed up inside one of them.

“There,” Kelsey insisted looking directly at the tent for Gregorio the Great: Master of Illusion, “He’s in there! I can sense him inside!” 

We all went inside, and It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the gloom inside the tent. I could hear movement ahead of me and when my eyes had finally adjusted, I saw a tall, slender, mustachioed man on stage, wearing a tailor-fitting tuxedo. He had the suave, practiced air of a stage performer, and I knew right away that this must be Gregorio the Great.

“My apologies, ladies,” he called to us from the stage, “but the next show isn’t for another hour yet. I’m afraid you’ll have to come back later.”

“This is the guy,” Kelsey whispered surreptitiously to Leah, and Leah nodded subtly, keeping her eyes on the stage magician.

“Say, don’t I know you?” the stage magician asked, and he took two steps forward, giving Leah an attentive look.

There were a few seconds of silence as Leah and Gregorio stared at each other. I had a feeling of foreboding as the silence stretched on. It felt like one of those suspenseful moments from the movies where two gunfighters stare at each other just before the shooting starts.

I felt an urge to scream out a warning, but I had nothing concrete on which to claim there was a threat. Gregorio was smiling the sort of practiced smile performers wear when performing for an audience, and he wasn’t holding any sort of weapon in his hands. He wasn’t making any sort of threatening gestures. All I had was an awkward feeling that something bad was about to happen.

Suddenly, Gregorio’s stage-smile transformed into an angry glare, and as he pointed in Leah’s direction a large handgun seemed to magically appear in his hand. 

“You,” he screamed in angry accusation, “You bitch! I’ll kill you for what you did to me!”

Two deafening gunshots went off in the enclosed tent as Gregorio pulled the trigger. I threw Kelsey to the ground and we took cover behind a row of chairs while Leah stood her ground and held her hand up in a mystic gesture. I quickly deduced that Leah was some sort of wizard and that she’d conjured a protective shield before she could be hit by Gregorio’s gunfire.

“I take it the two of you know each other,” I called out to Leah, while holding Kelsey down and using my body as a shield to protect her from gunfire.

My question had been directed at Leah however it was Gregorio who answered my question.

“The bitch shot me and then she set me on fire,” Gregorio bellowed.

“He deserved it,” Leah shot back as she pulled a blasting rod out from her blazer, and “He killed dozens of innocent people down in Ocoee!”

“Liar!” Gregorio spat, “I never laid a finger on those people!”

Leah pointed her blasting rod at Gregorio and there was a loud foosh as a huge stream of orange and white flame erupted from the tip. However, instead of engulfing Gregorio in flame, the stage caught fire and Gregorio just disappeared without a trace.

“Where’d he go?” I called out.

“I don’t know! I don’t see him,” Leah shot back, “Maybe he’s under a veil!”

“Kelsey, can you sense him?” 

Kelsey coughed violently for a few seconds as the tent filled with smoke, and then she replied, “He’s not in the tent! He got out somehow! He’s headed north!”

Finding the exit was difficult as smoke filled the tent and stung our eyes, but eventually we stumbled out into the fresh air outside.

Crowds of people noticed that the magician’s tent was ablaze and began to call out “fire!” in ever louder shouts. Some people rushed away from the fire in blind panic, others rushed towards the fire with buckets of water or fire-extinguishers. Leah and I tried to push through the crowds as Kelsey directed us towards our escaping serial-killer.

“Where is he?” Leah shouted as we struggled through the disorganized, shoving mass of human bodies. The panic caused by the fire made it impossible to do a systematic search for our quarry. Everyone was running, pushing, shoving and colliding into other people. The chaos worked in the serial-killer’s favor, making it much more difficult to locate him.

Kelsey pointed ahead and up, “There,” she exclaimed loudly, “On the Ferris wheel! In the top tub!”

“Seriously?” Leah responded, and we pushed through the crowd towards our target.

I had to wonder about Gregorio’s abilities. Making his way from the magician’s tent to the top of the Ferris wheel in just a few seconds would indicate either superhuman speed or some form of teleportation. Either of those abilities would make him a very capable and dangerous opponent.

“Gregorio said you and he met before,” I said to Leah “What is he? What do you know about him?”

“Not nearly enough,” she said through clenched teeth, “The first time I met him he seemed like an ordinary mortal, evil but without any special abilities.”

“I guess he fooled you.”

“I thought I killed him last time I we met. This time I’m gonna fucking saw his head off and burn it to ashes!”

“You’re gonna have to get him off the Ferris wheel first. How are you gonna do that?”

Rather than answer me, Leah sprinted away from me and towards the Ferris wheel. She moved with the self-confidence and vigor of a woman with a plan she enthusiastically wanted to put into action.

“You have a plan?” I called after her, but she just ignored me. She ran straight towards the Ferris wheel until a shot rang out and she collapsed to the ground.

“Oh, Hell’s teeth.” I swore. It was Francisco and Leah’s job to kill Gregorio. Leah had just been shot and Francisco was nowhere to be found. I was suddenly feeling like it was my responsibility to deal with the serial killer.

“What do we do now?” Kelsey asked as we stared at Leah’s prone form lying on the ground.

“I’m gonna knock his ass off the Ferris wheel,” I said, “You stay here, behind the merry-go-round. I don’t think he can see you where you are right now, and that’s the way I want things to stay.”

The horses were attached to the merry-go-round by support beams. I ripped one of the support-beams out and held it like a jousting lance. As improvised weapons went, it was probably the best I’d be able to come up with.

What I did next wasn’t really part of a plan. It was more like me lashing out because I was truly pissed off. I didn’t like Leah much, but she deserved better than to be gunned down, and left to bleed on the ground while her killer got away without a scratch.

There was a tingling between my shoulder blades and my wings sprouted again. New bones and muscle tissue sprang into existence and my wings extended outwards. They felt odd at first, but once I got them moving, they felt like a part of me. Within seconds they felt graceful enough to get me airborne.

 

Within seconds, I was above the circus, looking down upon the tents and the Ferris wheel. I could see Gregorio twisted around in his seat. He was leaning over the edge of the tub, looking down at the ground. I reasoned that he was probably staring at Leah, waiting to see if she got back up after he shot her. That worked out heavily in my favor.

 

I circled around so I could build up some momentum, then I dive-bombed Gregorio, picking up speed as I descended. My maneuver was working perfectly and then Gregorio looked up and saw me as I hurtled towards him. The sneaky bastard actually worked some sort of spell and disappeared before I could impale him on my weapon. And I was rocketing forward at such speed, I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.

The metal support beam slammed into the passenger seat and speared through the metal behind it. If Gregorio hadn’t disappeared, I would have impaled him on my weapon. The bastard had survived mostly by luck.

Before I could locate his new location, two gunshots rang out and from the explosions of pain in my chest, I surmised that both shots tore holes in my right lung and broke at least one of my ribs. “Aaaaauughhhhhhh,” I groaned, “I hate getting shot.”

 

Slowly the crippling pain faded as my body healed the damage and I proceeded to cough up the blood that had seeped into my lung. As I grew more powerful, my body healed the damage from grievous injuries much quicker, nevertheless, getting shot was till agonizingly painful.

“You’re working for her,” I heard Gregorio’s voice accuse me from somewhere nearby. I got up, twisted my neck around and saw Gregorio in one of the tubs beneath me. He was pointing his weapon at me, but looked calm and relaxed, like he was in no hurry and could shoot me again whenever he felt like it.

“I’m not working for her,” I corrected sharply, “I’m working with her. There’s a difference.”

“She’s a lunatic,” Gregorio countered, “Anybody who works with her is just asking for trouble. You made a bad choice, sister.”

I coughed up even more blood and then responded, “And when you killed those FBI agents in Alabama, that was a sign of how sane and trouble-free you are?”

Gregorio’s eyes went wide with surprise and he said, “How do you know about that?”

“The FBI knows,” I said menacingly, “They hired us to take you down. They tend to hold a grudge when you kill their people.”

 

It was a lie of course. The FBI had no idea who had killed their agents in Alabama, but I got a certain degree of satisfaction in watching Gregorio squirm.

“So, even if you kill me,” I said ominously, “others will come.”

Attempting to recover his spirit, Gregorio replied, "Then, I'll kill them too!" Then, the deplorable bastard squeezed the trigger of his firearm and shot me again.


	5. A Little Errand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lara sends Hannah on a mission to kill a Black Court Vampire.

Being shot in the head is an agonizing ordeal. The pain is excruciating and the horrific amount of blood that splatters all over your clothes is not be believed. All in all, it’s a grisly experience. I do not recommend it for anybody.

Also, if you’re a mere mortal a gunshot wound like this will kill you.

Of course, if you’re an immortal who’s survived centuries of barbarian invasions, peasant uprisings, battles, revolts, plagues, feuds, the Dark Ages, the Inquisition and too many wars to count, your ability to survive a grisly headwound is probably way above average.

I am one of those immortals who have survived for centuries, and I was able to survive a gunshot wound to the head.

Still, the pain was agonizing.

Of course, I lost consciousness. Having chunks of my skull and brain matter ripped from my head was a traumatic experience, and even an ancient, godlike being such as myself cannot endure that kind that of trauma as if it were a sprained ankle. My higher brain functions shut down while my body attempted to repair itself.

Did it take seconds for me to recover? Did it take minutes? I’m not sure. All I really know for certain, is that when I regained consciousness, I was covered in blood and I was still lying in that tub on the Ferris wheel. I grunted some colorful swear words and hesitantly began the arduous act of sitting up.

“You’re alive?” I heard a familiar voice ask.

“Uuuughhh,” I replied bitterly.

“You’re far more resilient than I dared to hope,” The familiar voice commented, “I’m actually impressed.”

“Francisco?” I finally asked, when my short-term memory began to kick in.

“And you remember my name,” he said cheerfully, “Your powers of recovery astound me! After a traumatic headwound like yours, it would be impressive if you remembered your own name.”

“Gregorio,” I said with a start, “He shot me! Where is he?”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Francisco replied.

I sat up and leaned over the edge of the tub and understood.

“Hell’s teeth,” I swore as I looked down into the tub below. There looked to be about a hundred ravens swarming all over something that was vaguely human-shaped. The recipient of their wrath looked to be dead. It occasionally spasmed or twitched as it was clawed and pecked at, but I think that was only involuntary reactions to tendons and ligaments being severed.

“Gregorio was pecked to death by birds?” I asked.

“It was like a scene from a Hitchcock movie,” Francisco confirmed, “only with lots more blood.”

My head was throbbing with intense pain, but I managed to form an intelligent thought.

“You did this,” I said.

“I was hired to kill that guy,” Francisco replied, “I get paid the same no matter what weapon I use.”

“You couldn’t have summoned up your army of angry birds before I got shot?”

“It’s not that easy,” Francisco replied, “I have a talent. I can bewitch ravens into doing my bidding, but it takes time and effort. And manipulating one-hundred and fifty ravens all at once takes far more time and effort than just dealing with one.”

One of the ravens flew over and landed on the edge of tub, made a harsh, abrupt, croaking sound and gave me an affronted look as if to say, “I am not some sort of pet dog to come when he calls. I am a wild creature, and he does not control me. I show up when I am damn good and ready.”

Okay, maybe it was the head injury talking, but that’s the substance of what I thought the bird was trying to say when it gave me that look.

“Yeah, okay, whatever,” I said, and I rubbed the bridge of my nose and waited for the throbbing in my head to stop.

I don’t remember getting off the Ferris wheel, but I do remember Francisco and I being on the ground, with me kneeling over Leah. She was alive, but she had been shot in the leg and she’d bled all over the place.

“How bad is it?” Leah asked as she panted and gasped in pain.

Leah was pale and wide-eyed. A large puddle of blood had pooled around her, but somebody had taken a leather belt and fashioned it into a tourniquet to reduce the bleeding.

“You’ll live,” I said, “I won’t let you die. You owe me ten bucks.”

“What?” she exclaimed incredulously, and then I placed a hand on her thigh, a few inches above her gunshot wound.

Immediately a rush of mystical energies flooded down my arm and into my hand. Leah reacted to my touch by squirming around on the ground and giving me a look of pique and suspicion, however, she didn’t try to stop me from what I was doing. 

"Hannah, what the fuck?” Leah barked at me as she felt the mystical energies from my fingertips travel down her leg and towards the punctured flesh, damaged blood vessels, shredded muscle tissue and other damage that needed fixing. The energies I unleashed from my body to hers seemed almost sentient. They found damage and fixed it. There was no need for me to direct what needed to be done. The mystical energies I unleashed understood perfectly the role they were to play, and they did it perfectly every time. 

“No way,” Leah exclaimed when I was finally finished healing her. Gingerly, she tried to stand, and looked pleasantly surprised when she realized her leg had no problem supporting her weight.

“A healing spell?” Francisco asked from a short distance behind me.

Technically what I did wasn’t a spell. I don’t have much talent for learning or casting spells. What I had done was to use rúnölki energy to warp the fabric of reality. To mortals it seemed like casting a magic spell, however, it’s much easier than that. It’s sort of like turning back time to the point before the body was injured. It seemed almost like cheating. Humans couldn't do it, as rúnölki energy was something humans couldn't even see or feel. Their genetic makeup was all wrong. They couldn’t warp reality the way gods can do.

“A healing spell,” I said, not really wanting to share the truth, “I have a talent for them.”

“A talent?” Leah said incredulously, “This is more than just talent! This is fucking phenomenal! Working magic directly on a human body requires a superhuman amount of power! I’ve never known a wizard who could do anything like this!”

“You do excellent work,” said Francisco calmly, ignoring Leah’s emotional outburst, “Her leg seems fine, even her color looks healthy. She looks like she hasn’t lost any blood at all.”

Just then we heard the shrill, droning siren of a fire truck approaching.

“I think the fire from the magician’s tent has spread,” Kelsey said, “The fire department will be here soon.”

“And maybe the police too,” Leah said, “I don’t really wanna be here when they show up. Let’s roll.”

Kelsey pointed out the fact that both Leah and I were nearly covered in blood stains. It was mostly our own blood, still, it wasn’t the sort of thing that I would enjoy trying to explain to the cops. Leah led the way and the four of us made it back to her car and fled the circus as quickly as we could without attracting attention to ourselves.

 

When I first met Leah, she wagered ten bucks that Kelsey and I would be dead within an hour of meeting her. As Leah drove away from the circus, I pointed out the fact that I met her an hour and twenty-seven minutes earlier and I had stubbornly refused to die. Then I nagged her incessantly until she handed over the ten dollars that she owed me.

“She got lucky” commented Francisco, “If she was human, she’d be dead right now.”

“Wait, she’s not human?” Leah demanded.

“She took a shot to the head that blew half her brains out and she’s still alive,” replied Francisco, “Does that sound human to you?”

There was a brief interval as Leah considered this, then she replied, “So, what the hell is she? Is she a Norn? A djinn?”

“She is something that is exceedingly difficult to kill,” I snapped, “And she is also covered in blood! Is there someplace we can go where I can get cleaned up?”

“I’m covered in blood too,” Leah replied sharply, “You don’t hear me whining about it.”

Despite Leah’s attitude, she drove us to a nightclub on Jefferson Street. The place didn’t open until 9:00 PM and the doors were all locked, but Leah pounded on the door mercilessly for several minutes and eventually from inside there was the sound of loud, stomping feet, a shout of “we’re closed” and one of the employees unlocked the door.

A large, broad-shouldered bear of a man yanked the door open, glared at us and appeared ready to angrily berate us, but then the glare disappeared from his face, his bushy eyebrows raised up and he said, “Leah? What happened to you?”

“I cut myself shaving,” Leah said tersely, “Can we come inside? We need someplace to wash up.”

Apparently Leah and the massive creature at the door knew each other. He let all four of us inside and Leah showed me where the restrooms were located.

“So, who is that guy?” I asked Leah, “Boyfriend?”

“What? Josh? Oh, hell no,” Leah replied, “He just works here.”

“So, are you his boss? Do you own this place?”

“No,” Leah replied, “Look, a couple years back, they had a ghost problem at this club, the power would go out for no reason, glasses and bottles would break for no reason, mirrors would shatter, customers would see a woman in a navy nurse’s uniform at the bar, in the restroom or on the dance floor, but if anyone tried to approach her, she’d disappear without a trace.”

I nodded my head, it sounded like a ghost problem.

“So, I made their ghost problem go away. Ghosts aren’t that bright. Getting rid of it wasn’t difficult. But now, everybody who works here thinks that I walk on water.”

I stood at the sink and used paper towels, water and lots and lots of scrubbing to wash the blood off. It was on my skin, my clothes and even in my hair. I took off my shirt, filled up the sink with water and tried to soak the bloodstains out, but even if I somehow succeeded in getting the blood out, my shirt had been torn to rags by the two bullets that had gone through my chest and the wings that had burst out through my back.

“I think your shirt is history,” Leah said.

She took off her own shirt and tried soaking it in the sink. She didn’t have any holes in hers, however she’d been lying in a pool of blood and the back of her shirt was fairly coated with the stuff. I wasn’t optimistic about either of these shirts being salvageable.

 

Leah marched over to the bathroom door, pushed it open and called out for Josh.

“Josh is in the manager’s office,” a female voice called back, “Can I help you?”

“Claire, this is Leah,” Leah called back, “My friend and I have had a wardrobe malfunction. Our shirts are kind of destroyed. Do you guys sell t-shirts to the customers?”

“Yeah,” Claire called back.

“Could you get one for me and my friend?”

Claire asked for our sizes and then fetched two black t-shirts with the words Club Pandemonium boldly emblazoned across the front. Leah handed one of them to me.

I looked at the shirt, then I looked at Leah and said, “You and your friend had a wardrobe malfunction? Are you saying that we’re friends now?”

Leah turned her gaze away from me and then grudgingly replied, “Well, you did do a world-class job of fixing up my leg after I got shot. You do something nice like that for me, I’d have to be a total bitch to not be friends with you after that.”

_______________________

Two days after I returned to Chicago, Kelsey got a check from Rochau for the work she did, tracking down that serial killer. The check was issued from the account of one of Rochau’s shell corporations and didn’t rouse any suspicions when I took Kelsey to Liberty Bank and we used the check to open up both a savings and a checking account for her.

I had also gotten a check from Rochau for acting as Kelsey’s bodyguard. Kelsey’s check was bigger than mine, but mine was still quite a hefty sum.

Rather than take my check to the bank, I took mine to Becky.

Rebecca Coleman (aka Becky) is my trusted associate, who handles all the church’s finances. I gave her an incredibly dishonest story about where the check came from and asked her if there was a way that I could donate the check to the church’s operating funds.

I don’t know my way around banking law, tax laws, income reporting etc., but Becky understands all of these things and cheerfully explained my options to me.

“The church is doing quite well,” she commented buoyantly, after we resolved the issue.

“What?” I asked, “Just because of that one check?”

“The check is great,” Becky responded, “but more importantly donations are up. We took in about twice as much money in May and we did in April. I guess I should have expected that. Your congregation size went way up after that article in the Midwestern Arcane.”

“Wait! What?” I asked, suddenly perplexed, “What article?”

Becky’s mouth formed into a lopsided grin and she replied, “Seriously? You didn’t know about this?”

I shook my head in negation and then Becky explained.

“One of the women in your congregation is a reporter for the Midwestern Arcane. She’s sat through a lot of your sermons and seen you hear a lot of people. Several weeks back you even cured her astigmatism. She wrote an article about you immediately after. You’re now something of a local celebrity.”

“I am?” I asked, still feeling stunned.

“You are,” Becky confirmed, “How do you not know this?”

“I’ve been busy,” I said defensively, “In addition to my Sunday sermons, I’m doing about forty or fifty healings a week. Sometimes people come to my home, sometimes I go to their homes, once I even paid a visit to Saint Elizabeth’s to heal somebody.”

“The healings eat up a lot of your time,” Becky said.

“Well, it turns out that free healthcare is popular,” I replied, “People keep lining up to get some.”

I was torn. It seemed as if the article in the Midwestern Arcane had helped me accumulate a whole fleet of new believers, however, the reporter never bothered to contact me before she ran with the story. Something about that made me feel wary and uncomfortable. By making me famous, was the reporter attempting to manipulate me in some way?

Maybe I was just being paranoid. I wanted more believers, so technically, this publicity was a good thing, but I still couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that there was something unscrupulous going on.

Becky couldn’t remember the name of the reporter who wrote up the story on me, however, her name would be on file with the Midwestern Arcane. It would be easy enough to find out. I resolved to look it up when I got the chance.

 

However, when I stepped into my home my plans got sidetracked. Within a few seconds of entering my home I heard humans excitedly panting, groaning and gasping. The sounds seemed to be emanating from my living room, so I warily allowed my feet to take me there.

The sight in my living room was like something out of an R-rated movie. A naked, attractive, young woman was on her hands and knees on my couch, pinning a nearly naked, attractive young man on my couch. Upon closer examination, the naked, young woman was Kelsey, my teenage ward and the nearly naked young man was Thomas, Lara Raith’s younger brother.

Kelsey arched her back and her hips squirmed in the air as she lowered her head to Thomas’s chest and trapped one of his nipples between her teeth. Thomas moaned and panted as Kelsey licked, sucked and chewed on his captive nipple. I had been stealthily silent as I entered the room, however, Kelsey and Thomas were so feverishly engrossed in each other, I probably could have boisterously stomped into the room and they still wouldn’t have noticed me.

Kelsey was utterly naked and the way she wriggled her upraised butt, her anus and bald pubes were shamelessly on display. Thomas’s eyes were closed, and a look of dreamy delight was on his face. He arched his back and his eyelids fluttered as Kelsey licked and sucked upon on of Thomas’s pink nipples and then proceeded to lavish attention on the other.

As a lesbian, I don’t get sexually attracted to men, however, watching Thomas squirm and moan as Kelsey brushed her tongue across his moist, erect nipples, I couldn’t help but think how delicious he looked. He was slender, beautiful and athletic looking, like a Greek sculpture of the god, Dionysus.

He was also a succubus of the White Court. He had supernatural abilities that allowed him to sexually attract even straight men and gay women. In much the same way, his sister Lara had the ability to draw in gay men and straight women.

 

I found it to be extremely disconcerting. At my age, I shouldn’t have any questions about my sexuality, and yet as I looked down at Thomas, his boyishly handsome face, his smooth, naked chest, his long eyelashes, his pink, pouty lips, I couldn’t help but feel a confusing stirring in my loins.

I was transfixed by Thomas’s nearly naked body and his adorable good looks. I needed to break myself out of the spell I was caught up in and I proceeded to break myself out by the most direct means available.

I smacked Kelsey’s bare bottom with my right hand and she let out a girlish yelp, but remained hovering over Thomas’s prone form.

Then I smacked her ass again, much harder this time, leaving behind a reddish handprint.

“Aaaaaaighhhhhhhh,” she yelped, her eyes opened wide and she reached a hand back to protect her vulnerable backside.

“Kelsey,” I said admonishingly, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I was, um, well, um,” Kelsey faltered, then she scrambled off of Thomas’s prone form and backed away from me. She found her panties on the floor and struggled to put them back on while simultaneously backing away from me.

“When I agreed to let you live here, I did set aside a bedroom for you,” I reminded Kelsey, “If you’re going to tear a boy’s clothes off and treat his nipples like they’re sucking candies, it would seem appropriate to me that you do that in your room, and not out in a public area like the living room!”

“Sorry, Hannah,” the embarrassed teenager said, “It’s just, he showed up at the front door, and he was so…”

Kelsey seemed to run out of words after that. Realizing that she was incapable of finishing her sentence, Kelsey grabbed a few more items of clothing off the floor and hastily retreated to her bedroom.

 

“Look Hannah, in her defense,” Thomas began, but I cut him off.

“And you,” I snapped at Thomas, “why are you even here?”

“Lara sent me,” Thomas said defensively, “There’s a threat to the Raith family and she told me to come and inform you about it personally.”

“And you thought the best way to inform me was to rip off the clothes off the teenage girl who lives with me?”

“It’s not my fault,” Thomas insisted, “She ripped her own clothes off and then she jumped on me. She was really intense.”

I rolled my eyes and bit back on an angry retort. The story Thomas gave me could have very well been true. Thomas wasn’t human. He was a paranormal creature that incited lust just by being in the same room with someone. He was uncommonly beautiful, and he radiated sexual desire. 

 

“Okay, I can buy that,” I admitted grudgingly, “but understand this, the girl is under my protection. I swore an oath to protect her. Do you know what that means?”

 

Thomas had begun to gather up his clothes, but as he pulled his tight jeans up over his hips he asked, "Is this the part where you threaten me?"

"It is," I conceded.

"Look Thomas," I said, "I like you, but you're a predator. Humans are food for you. And if you kill Kelsey, I'll have to kill you. It's better for everyone concerned that you know the rules up front instead of learning about them later."

Thomas went deathly silent, but eventually nodded and said, "Okay, that's fair."

 

Thomas fell silent after that and looked crestfallen. To break the uncomfortable silence I said, “So, what was it that Lara wanted you to tell me?” 

“One of Lara’s intelligence assets in the 15th district was killed by a Black Court Vampire,” Thomas replied as he picked up a manila envelope off the floor, “Something like that could be considered a direct challenge to her authority.”

 

I took the envelope from Thomas and pulled out three eight-by-ten glossies. All three photos were grainy, and a lot of details were obscured by shadows, however, all three photos centered on something that looked like a walking corpse, little more than a skeleton with skin stretched tightly over the bones.

“Lara wants you to find the vampire and kill it,” Thomas said, “I thought Lara just saw you as food, but apparently she thinks you can be an enforcer.”

 

The photos all appeared to be taken in a parking lot by a security camera. I couldn’t learn much from just staring at the photos, however, Kelsey could. Kelsey had abilities that could lead me right to this creature.

“Lara has been grooming me to be some sort of supernatural assassin,” I explained, “Although I thought she wanted me to tackle the really big threats. She should easily be able to neutralize a single Black Court Vampire without any help from me.”

“She could,” Thomas conceded, “but Lara likes to move in mysterious ways.”

The more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that this was some sort of a test. She probably wanted to see how well I performed against a single opponent before she sent me into battle against the House Skavis or Malvora. If I couldn’t handle a single Black Court Vampire, she’d know I wasn’t ready to go to war against an entire family of cunning, wily White Court Vampires.

 

I told Kelsey that I had another job for her. I showed her the photos of the Black Court Vampire and told her it would be a good idea to track him before the sun went down.

"This type of vampire can't stand sunlight," I explained, "It's a fatal weakness. So, if we were to find him before the sun goes down, it'd be to our advantage."

"Who's going with us?"

"Nobody," I replied, "I'm going to kill this one on my own."

"Can Thomas come with us?" Kelsey asked, "He could be your backup."

"What? No!" I exclaimed, "This is just one vampire! I should be able to handle one vampire all on my lonesome! If I invite Thomas to come along as my backup, it's going to make me look weak!"

"What if this vampire has friends?" Kelsey asked, "What if he sired a bunch of other vampires? Vampires can reproduce pretty fast by biting humans, right?" 

"This is technically true," I conceded, although my suspicion was that Kelsey wanted to invite Thomas not because she felt we needed the backup, but because she liked Thomas's pouty lips, his perfectly shaped ass and the way that he looked like someone who had just walked out of a Calvin Klein ad.

Eventually, I caved in and invited Thomas to come along with us. It injured my pride to ask for his help, but Kelsey was relentless in her pestering, and I wanted to get this over with quickly. The longer I argued with Kelsey, the longer this little errand would take.

__________

Before we went to kill the vampire, Thomas and I stocked up on weapons. Thomas suggested that we go see a guy who knew that could get us guns without having to go through background checks or waiting periods. Since we were in a hurry, I agreed.

Thomas's arms dealer was a big guy, but for a black-market arms dealer he didn't look very threatening. He had an avuncular face, a receding hairline and the thickest, bushiest eyebrows I've ever seen.

 

The guy was parked out on Twenty-Ninth Street, and called himself Alexandros, although that was probably just an alias. Honestly, I didn’t care what he called himself. All I cared about was if he had the sort of weapons I needed, and he did.

He and his sons opened the back of his truck, and there were handguns, shotguns, assault rifles, grenades and thousands of rounds of ammo. Alexandros had enough military gear in his van to equip a small army.

“Hell’s Bells,” I swore, “I’ve come to the right place.”

I got myself a .45 caliber Colt Commander. Thomas didn't have any money, but he talked me into outfitting him with a .50 caliber Desert Eagle.

 

Alexandros seemed annoyed with me for my lack of enthusiasm for his wares. I was just buying what I needed, but I think he was hoping that I'd be like a kid in a candy store.

"Seriously," he said, "I show you my beautiful inventory, and all you want is two handguns? You are like boring tourist who drives all the way out to Disneyland and goes home without riding any of the rides."

He gestured theatrically towards the interior of his truck and said, "I have an M16A2 with an M203 Grenade Launcher! How can you not want something like this?"

"Why would I need a grenade launcher?" I asked.

"Sometimes it's not about need," Alexandros explained, "Sometimes it's about creating an image for yourself! You heft a dangerous weapon like that over your shoulder, you'll be the biggest badass in the room! Everyone will be afraid of you!"

"I'm not insecure enough that I need a grenade launcher to feel like a badass," I replied.

"You should at least buy some grenades," Alexandros said, "There's no telling when you might need to blow something up."

I passed on the grenades and the grenade launcher. I was going after a lone vampire. A semiautomatic weapon, a grenade launcher and a box of grenades seemed like overkill for a lone opponent.

I ended up buying two shoulder rigs, two boxes of ammo for the handguns, a cavalry sabre and a scabbard. It wasn't the sort of arsenal that Alexandros wanted me to buy, but it was enough to get him to shut up.

 

I didn’t want Kelsey meeting with any arms dealers, so I left her at home while I met with Alexandros. Once Thomas and I were armed, I drove back home and had Kelsey direct us to the Black Court Vampire.

 

Following Kelsey's directions, I drove west and eventually ended up in a run-down neighborhood that exhibited all the signs of poverty and desperation. There was a strong theme of urban decay, punctuated by concrete, rust, crumbling buildings, liquor stores and a thriving outgrowth of weeds on every block.

"A vampire lives here?" Kelsey said incredulously when we finally parked my car in front of a boarded-up building, "I thought vampires were supposed to live in castles."

"The Black Court has fallen on hard times," Thomas explained, "They can't afford castles anymore.”

I got out of the car and had Kelsey get into the driver’s seat.

“Leave the doors locked and the engine running,” I told her, “If a vampire tries to break into the car, get the hell out of here and drive straight home. Don’t take any chances.”

“How will you get home if I take off with the car?” Kelsey asked.

I just rolled my eyes at that. Then Thomas and I walked up to the front door. I was expecting that I’d have to break the door down, but the damn thing wasn’t even locked.

“What sort of predator leaves the entrance to his secret hideout unlocked?” I asked.

Thomas shrugged his shoulders and then replied, “Maybe he’s hoping some of the locals will try to rob the place. If humans break in, he doesn’t have to go hunting. He can just kill the intruders. It’s like food delivery.”

I paused at that. It was a chilly thought, but it made a lot of sense. It was like he was inviting his victims to come to him. After that; every moment I spent in that condemned building; I felt like a character in a horror movie.

 

The interior of the condemned home was straight out of a horror movie. The windows were boarded up and there was no electricity, so it was dark and spooky. The floorboards creaked and there were cobwebs in every corner. I pulled out a flashlight to cut through the darkness, it helped to illuminate the room, but did nothing to reduce the creepiness of the place.

Thomas and checked the ground floor and the second floor, but we didn’t find the vampire. Then Thomas uttered the words, “I guess we better check the basement.”

 

I let out a disgusted grunt and nodded in grudging agreement. One thing that I’ve learned about horror movies is that you never search the basement, especially when there’s no way to turn on the basement lights. Searching a dark basement was almost certain doom. It was a great way to get decapitated, disemboweled or bisected.

 

Before Thomas and I were even halfway down the basement stairs the smell hit me, the reek of old blood and rotting meat. The disgusting odor assaulted my nostrils, causing my gorge to rise and prompting Thomas to opine, “I think he’s down here.”

I paused and shone my flashlight down into the odorous basement. I was expecting to come across the vampire, or at least the corpses of one of his victims.

I was not disappointed.

 

There were dead bodies everywhere, some were piled up in corners of the room, some were sprawled underneath the staircase, others were propped up against the hot water heater, three or four of them were stacked underneath the fuse box. There were dozens of dead bodies just scattered carelessly throughout the room without any care for order or organization.

 

Even with my flashlight, the basement was dark, grimy and shadowy. The corpses and the bloodstains were nebulous even under direct illumination of my flashlight. Thomas and I outnumbered the vampire and we were both armed, but I felt a nagging sense of trepidation. Everything about that basement gave me the creeps, it was like the walls could close in at any minute, break my bones and leave me trapped there for all eternity.

 

After several minutes of searching, Thomas and I still hadn’t found the vampire. I desperately wanted to get out of that basement, so I came up with halfway decent excuse do go back out into the sunlight without making me sound like a coward.

 

“I don’t see him down here anywhere,” I said to Thomas, “Let’s go and check with Kelsey. Maybe she saw somebody leave the building while we were inside.”

Thomas seemed okay with that plan, and I turned towards the stairs, but suddenly the elusive vampire was blocking the exit.

It was a disgusting creature, dressed all in black. It looked like a human in the final stages of terminal cancer. It was skinny to the point of looking anorexic and malnourished, its skin was pale and an unhealthy shade of grey, its eyes were filmy as if it had severe cataracts, and its mouth and chin was filthy and stained with something that was possibly blood and gore.

“Fools,” the vampire admonished us in a raspy voice, “you should not have come here.”

I already had my .45 in my hand and I pointed it directly at the vampire’s head.

“And you shouldn’t have gotten between me and the exit,” I told the vampire brusquely, “It’s Drag Queen Night at Hamburger Mary’s and if you make me miss it, there’ll be hell to pay.” 

“What?” the vampire croaked, “Are you insane?”

That’s a thing with Black Court Vampires. They seem to be stuck in another century and never get pop culture references. They also seemed to be utterly devoid of humor. My whimsical banter was wasted on him.

“No,” I replied tersely, “just bitter about being sent out to this disgusting place and having to deal with you.”

I fired two shots into the vampire’s head. At close range the .45 made huge holes in the vampire’s skull. Traditionally, gunshot wounds aren’t considered a method for killing Black Court Vampires, however the explosive damage those two .45 slugs had done was so extreme, there was almost nothing left of the vampire’s skull. 

Thomas made some sort of comment after that, but I had difficulty making out his words over the sound of the ringing in my ears. Firing a .45 caliber weapon in a closed basement makes a lot of noise. It was like the boom of a cannon.

“I think he’s dead,” I said and looked to Thomas for some sign of agreement.

There was a look of alarm on Thomas’s face and he shouted something at me. There ringing in my ears was still acute, but I was almost certain he used the word “trap” somewhere in his excited shouting.

 

I followed the direction of Thomas’s gaze and understood. The corpses weren’t inanimate piles of rotting flesh. They were dozens of Black Court Vampires, and they were all getting up off the floor and staring at me with malicious intent.

Things looked grim for Thomas and me. I had killed one vampire, but suddenly the exit was being blocked by four more vampires, and there were at least twenty vampires on the other side of the room, ready and willing to ruin our day.

“You are correct, Young Raith,” one of the vampires said, “This was a trap and you walked into it quite expeditiously.”

“Fuck,” Thomas exclaimed, “Well, this is embarrassing.”

It was too dark and shadowy to do proper math, but it seemed to me that there were at least twenty-four Black Court Vampires in that basement, and my handgun only held eight rounds of ammo, of which I’d already fired two. Thomas’s handgun only held seven rounds of ammo. So, even if Thomas and I killed one vampire with each remaining round of ammunition, there’d still be eleven vampires left after our guns were empty.

 

Thomas seemed to have similar dismal thought bouncing through his head as he said to me, "Boy, sure would be nice if we had some grenades, don't you think?"

“Bite me, pretty boy,” I replied and I shot another vampire right between the eyes. It was a good line, followed by a good shot. If the battle could have ended right there, it would have been just peachy. The problem was the remaining twenty or so vampires that were opposed to us leaving unmolested.

 

Four Black Court Vampires attacked me simultaneously and knocked me on my ass. Then a fifth vampire opened its mouth and lunged forward, intent on biting me. I shot him in the face and there was a disgusting explosion of blood and brains. A lot of that blood splattered all over me. A sixth vampire climbed on top of me, but I kicked it in the solar plexus, and it went flying like a cannonball into the ceiling before crashing back down to the floor.

I dropped my flashlight and the battle went downhill after that. I couldn’t see Thomas, but I assumed things weren’t going well for him either. I heard a series of gunshots, so I knew that Thomas was still alive and shooting. 

 

In the inky-black darkness everything seemed so much worse, and I felt the beginnings of hysteria forming. In a blind panic I ripped my arm free from my attackers and fired off two more shots. I didn’t aim, I just fired. I have no idea what I hit, although in such a target-rich environment, the odds were good that I hit one of many vampires that were swarming over me.

 

My heart pounded madly in my chest and I screamed in inarticulate frustration. It was still daytime and here I was, trapped underground in pitch-black room underground without a single ray of sunshine visible anywhere. I screamed at the cruel way that fate mocked me as I died in the darkness when the sunlight that could save me was just a few yards away.

 

Then I felt teeth painfully biting into my throat. I screamed in pain and outrage and struggled once again to break free. It was a valiant struggle, but I was severely outnumbered. Then I screamed again. It seemed wildly unjust that I would die in this dark, disgusting, foul-smelling basement.

 

And as I screamed, I felt a rush of mystical energies coursing through me. My body seemed to be permeated with it. I could feel mystical energies throbbing in my chest, in my hands, in my loins and in my throat. It felt as if the energies pulsing vigorously inside me might cause my entire body might explode.

I was confused, but almost certain that I was going to explode like some sort of living bomb, and then the vampires started screaming in agony.

Suddenly, the basement was no longer encased in darkness. The room was brilliantly illuminated, and all the vampires were flailing around, their bodies in flames.

“Hell’s gate,” I swore and got up off the floor. Every vampire on the room was rapidly being burnt to death and none of them were grappling with me anymore.

“Hannah,” Thomas screamed, “we need to get out of here!”

I ignored Thomas at stared up at a spot near the ceiling. A hole in the fabric of reality had opened up and sunlight was streaming in directly from the hole.

I realized that the chaotic pulsing of energies in my body must have been me somehow subconsciously warping the fabric of reality and creating that hole.

“I did it,” I screamed in swaggering victory, “I am undefeated! You lured me into a trap! You outnumbered me twelve to one, and I still kicked your asses!”

“Hannah,” Thomas screamed urgently, “We need to go now! The whole building is on fire!”

I glanced about and realized he was right. The floor of the basement was made of concrete, however the staircase was made of wood, shelves on the walls were made of wood and a collection of dirty blankets and garbage was strewn about the floor. All of these things had caught fire and if Thomas and I didn’t escape from the basement soon, we would surely burn to death.

Still holding my gun, I shot a flaming vampire that stood between us and the staircase and I raced up the stairs with Thomas shadowing me. Within seconds we were out of the basement and out on the street.

Thomas threw me into the back seat of the car and yelled at Kelsey, “Drive! Drive!”

Kelsey didn’t hesitate. She hit the gas and we sped out of the neighborhood where the Black Court Vampires had been lurking. And as she shot down the street, she demanded, “What happened in there?”

“It was a trap,” Thomas replied, “Instead of one vampire, it was more like two-dozen.”

“We got jumped,” I said, “We almost died in there.”

“Why didn’t you guys know how many vampires were in there?” Kelsey asked, “I thought Lara had spies and intel people all over the city.”

I sat there and thought about that for a few seconds. Lara has a vast and effective intelligence network. Why didn’t we know that there was a whole nest of vampires?

“Oh fuck,” I swore, “Thomas could your sister have deliberately sent me into an ambush to get me killed? Is this her way of breaking up with me?”

“Would Lara do that?” Kelsey asked.

For approximately three seconds, no one said anything, then Thomas commented, “Lara would be willing to manipulate, deceive, and exploit others to achieve her goals. If she wanted you dead, she’d trick you into walking into a Black Court ambush without hesitation, but in this case, where is her motive? You’re both her food and her thug-in-training. Killing you off wouldn’t be to her advantage at all. She’d just be hurting herself.”

I nodded at that. What Thomas said made absolute sense. Lara had no motive for wanting me dead. So why was I sent into a scourge of Black Court Vampires, while believing that there’d only be one there?

“Wait,” Kelsey demanded, “Lara is some sort of cold, calculating villain that would send her own girlfriend off to certain death if it would further her own interests?”

“Yes,” Thomas and I answered simultaneously.

Kelsey merged onto I-290 and asked, “Why would you sleep with somebody like that?”

Thomas looked at me as if he was curious about that as well. For several seconds there was an uncomfortable silence in the car. Then finally I responded and said, “Well, the sex is amazing.”


End file.
